Le Coeur De La Mer
by Lomelindi
Summary: DISCONTINUED. All the Commodore used to cared about was his fleet and the ocean it sailed on. But now all he could think about was a troubled French Prince who longed for Egypt... SetoYami AU
1. The Crown Jewel

THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN REVISED!! Okay, sorry guys, I was in a rush the first time so the summary turned out too long and the update was really messed up cuz special fonts and bars just chose not to appear at random occasions. I caught two big typos that were bugging everyone, including me. And ff.net is SO screwing up my uploads! WHY!?!

Thank you to all that reviewed and I apologize for the horrible messiness! I don't have the time to reply to everyone personally right now, but to the two that this would apply to; I just finished French III and I dance ballet too. And thanks to thoser telling me about 'the heart of the sea' cuz I didn't bother to look up 'ocean'. Sorry! And to the reviewer that mentioned Norrington; yeah, I didn't like him that much either until... now, which was about a year after the movie. :-p But he's got a killer accent and he's the only one that can pull off the dorky tri-corner-hat and white-wig thing in the movie right. Plus he really is cute, but you just have to get used to him. And he is a VERY good actor... Most people just don't notice it because he's not the most important character in the story. And someone else mentioned being my beta reader; sure! I'll get back to you soon!

* * *

**Le Coeur de la Mer **

Authoress: Lomelindi

Rating: PG-13/R or NC-17 (depends where I'm posting)

Pairing: Seto/Yami (get out right now if you don't approve if this in any way or form)

Spoilers: None (I don't know squat about Duelist of Roses either)

Warnings: none except for guys in tights ()

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters/ideas/plots from the Pirates of the Caribbean, the Three Musketeers, the Lord of the Rings, the Mummy, Duelist of Roses, or Yu-Gi-Oh!

Summary: Being English, Seto hated the French... that is, until he met their prince, a troubled boy native to Egypt. Predictably, their courtship (if you could call it that) was riddled with trouble, but with vengeful musketeers and scheming pirates, how could it not be? Seto/Yami

Status: Incomplete (1/?)

NOTES

MUCH THANKS TO ALL IN THE PHARAOH'S PALACE GROUP THAT HELPED ME WITH IDEAS, FANART, COSTUMES, AND FRENCH! (Emmy, again, thank you!) I LOVE YOU GUYS! :-p

GAH, I can sense people wanting to strangle me already. I know I know I KNOW that Dreamcatcher should be updated, but by all means, I'm stuck and I just had to vent my ranting authoress powers on a different story. Plus I have a feeling this story is going to be so dreadfully fun to write (mainly cuz I'm making up everything). And to anyone that might care, I got TOTALLY re-obsessed with Commodore Norrington from Pirates of the Caribbean simply because I was doing some background fanfic surfing on how to write Seto and stuff for this story.

**I DID NOT DO ANY HISTORICAL RESEARCH WHILE MAKING THIS STORY!!** I'm only doing this out of an idea sparked by watching Pirates of the Caribbean (and listening to the soundtrack) one too many times and always hearing about the English/French thing in Duelist of Roses, which I've never played, seen or even remotely understood. Plus I suck at any history except that of ancient civilizations, and I'm especially ignorant in the time from the Middle Ages to now. Therefore, I don't have any clue whether musketeers existed during the time of British white-wig-and-red-coat era, nor do I have any clue if Egypt was actually under English or French rule (I know Egypt gained independence from Britain in the twentieth century and was shortly ruled by Napoleon at some point, but Ra damn me if I know anything beyond that). I realize Egypt is now mainly Islamic, but I also know (I think) that it was Christian for a while after the fall of the Roman Empire and Cleopatra and that big mess. If I'm wrong about any of this (which is possible cuz I'm making it up and nabbing info from POTC) I'm very terribly sorry and I hope I don't upset any history teacher/student/fan. Most of the history in this story is either highly romanticized from Pirates of the Caribbean or what my poor memory remembers of the Three Musketeers. **THIS STORY IS PURELY FICTION AND IS SUPPOSED TO BE HISTORICALLY ACCURATE IN ANY WAY OR FORM!! __**

I've only taken four years of school French (actually five but the first year all you learn is 'Bonjour!') and I SUCK at spelling, grammar, vocab and just about everything in the language. I'm trying my best to use accurate and interesting phrases, but I apologize if they're wrong in any way. (The title of this story means 'The Heart of the Ocean/Sea', which is NOT related to Titanic; I was thinking more in terms of Seto, his job and his eye color. :-p) By the way, my computer is incompetent and CANNOT, for its LIFE, upload accents correctly on ff.net; therefore, if the accents in the French don't upload right, don't blame me.

FOR THOSE THAT ARE MANGA-DEPRIVED: Mahado is, for those of you that don't know, the High Priest of the Millennium Ring (there were six, each a guardian of a M. Item) who was killed by Bakura in ancient Egypt and turned into the Dark Magician. He's cute as anything and he could be (possibly) Pharaoh's closest friend. I love him to bits. But just in case you're terribly confused, the whole deal with Pharaoh and the High Priests is not going to be included in this. At least, I don't think so... I could change my mind later.

Oh, one last thing.; **if you're French, British, Islamic, Christian or Egyptian, PLEASE don't get upset with this story!** I mean no harm (I'm ignorant, I swear!) and if I say anything insulting, its for the sake of the story!

**ABSOLUTELY NO FLAMES!! EVER!! Unlike others, I don't find them amusing in any way or form, and they really do hurt so be considerate and don't say a word if you hate this story. Kindly just leave and go flame someone else. And, before anyone even gets started, I don't understand why you would be here if you a, don't like Seto/Yami, b, don't like yaoi/slash, c, don't like Yu-Gi-Oh!, d, don't like fanfiction in general, or e, you plain don't like the story (if that's the case, stop reading! Not too hard to do!) Suggestions, requests, ideas and advice are, however, always welcome!**

* * *

... = very loosely translated French

"..." = English (occasionally w/ un-translated words from other languages)

/.../ = translated ancient Egyptian

'...' = private thoughts

_italics_ = words/terms/pronunciations NOT in the language being currently spoken or in the English narration

**bold** = song lyrics

[?] = footnotes

AN = author's note

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: ****The Crown Jewel**

The French called her "_le nénuphar blanc_"; the White Lotus. The Egyptians called her _Meretseger_, 'she who loves silence'. [1]

But to Yami, she was just one simple thing; mother.

He remembered her quite well. An exotic and beautiful woman, she was slender and delicate in form, her hair a thick, silky ebony, her skin a smooth golden-bronze. Her face was sweet and forever youthful, with pearly lips and soulful eyes darker than the darkest of nights. She had a twinkling laugh and a voice that flowed like silk, her soft words often lulling her young son to sleep and bringing comfort to those that desired it.

Yami missed her terribly. Many times he would toss and turn in bed, dreaming of the nights when gentle arms cradled him to a warm bosom and a soft voice hummed to him from above, whispering of love and song. Sometimes he would almost feel the gentle flapping of ostrich feathers keeping gnats at bay and the cool wind of a starry Egyptian night, carrying away his mother's singing for the gods to hear.

...But that had all been a long, long time ago.

His mother was long dead, and now he lived in a strange land thousands of miles away from his native home, laying in a bed far too soft for his liking, hidden far from the open sky that he loved so much. And despite how much food and wealth and power he had at his very fingertips, he felt like... like a _prisoner_.

Tears came now, as they often did. Yami doesn't even try to fight them anymore. They burned their way from his eyes down his cheeks, soaking into the white linen that servants no doubt took great pains to sew.

He hated this. He hated crying. He hated missing her mother. He hated everything in this blasted palace, everything from the gold ceiling down to every last stitch in his sheets. It was all elaborate and beautiful, yes, but overwhelmingly so. Suffocating so. There was too much of everything.... Too much and not enough simplicity... Too much detail, too much perfume, too much of this and too much of that... He almost couldn't breath. And the styles were far too different then the ones he was used too; too _exaggerated_. Flowers were far too elaborate to be real, and paintings were far too romantic to be true.

It was all _fake_.

And he hated every last bit of it.

* * *

Yami was a son of Egypt. He was born and raised on her lands, and he knew her ways like he knew the back of his hand. This, however, was one those things that not even he could figure out.

He fingered the pendant that hung around his neck, rolling it around his fingers with slow, purposeful motions. A strange shaped thing, it was, an irregular flat piece of gold that roughly resembled a rectangle. On the front of it was an inlaid eye, clearly the Egyptian Eye of Ra, a feared symbol of revenge and justice once bestowed by Ra himself. No sane Egyptian would ever wear such a symbol unless they had a death wish, but Yami had very little choice.

The pendant had belonged to his mother, after all.

She had given it to him the moment they were separated, Yami about to be taken away to France to be their Crown Prince. She called it 'the key', and told him to never, ever lose it. It was strange, really. He kept hearing her words over and over again at night, and he kept seeing that damned symbol. _Always_ that damned symbol... He was sure it meant something far greater than what it seemed to be, but Ra-damn, he couldn't figure it out.

Still, he kept the pendant nevertheless, for the sake of his mother.

It was the only thing he had left of her.

The Prince rubbed at the pendant with unconscious familiarity, surprised that it had not dulled under this constant habit of his. Despite all these years, the gold was still brilliant and bright, with nearly no sign of wear.

Like the memory of his mother.

/You miss her./

Yami sighed, gently tucking the pendant under his collar. He hated this damn French collar; it was too thick and too high. It always made him so itchy and sometimes he felt like it was slowly but surely choking him to death. Irritably, he tugged on the frills rubbing against his throat. /Aye,/ he replied softly, without looking up. /I miss her./

A strong, gloved hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. /She rests well, my friend. Judgment came swiftly and easily for her./ [2]

Yami's eyes flashed briefly, growing distant. /Sometimes... sometimes I wish I went with her.../

In a flash, that once-gentle hand on his shoulder flew to his chin, wrenching it up with bone-twisting speed. Yami's scarlet eyes met with piercing, blue-green ones. /Do not dare to say that in my face, Yami./ The voice that had once been so smooth suddenly turned ice cold. /_Do not say it_./

/Aye, my friend, you worry far too much.../ murmured Yami passively, gently dislodging the hand from his chin. /I am not suicidal, if that's what you mean./

/Somehow you fail to convince me,/ the other youth stated quietly, dryly, pulling back but still with worry in his gaze.

Yami's brilliant eyes twinkled with mirth. /Ah, Mahado, when will you ever learn?/ He batted his eyes teasingly. /I am a very hard man to read./

/You needn't remind me,/ shot back the blond, rolling his eyes to the heavens with a self-pitying look.

Yami sighed and shot him a withering look, smoothing out his robes and waving away a pair of servants that were moving to do so for him. The clothing was rather modest for a member of royalty, mainly comprised of a simple scarlet over-cloak with intricate gold markings characteristic of the House of Lancaster. They were decent enough robes for a prince, he supposed, but they did not suit Yami's tastes; they were far too French in fashion and too uncomfortable to compare the flowing Egyptian garb he preferred to wear. He was not a tall man after all, and his tiny frame was all but overwhelmingly swamped within these thick, French-style layers. Which brought up another annoyance considering he did not take fondly to tripping over these blasted robes.

Mahado, on the other hand, had it much easier. He was a well-built man of near perfect medium stature, fluid strength hidden in his lean muscles. His skin was rather dark, like Yami's, though his other features were far less conspicuous than his tri-colored-haired companion; he was bright-eyed and youthful-faced, his long golden hair flowing in waves over his shoulders, the locks light and free but with every strand annoyingly neat. His handsome, sharp eyes were of the strange mix of blue, green, and a hint of amber, the dominating color usually depending on his mood. His clothes were that of a high-ranking musketeer, consisting of a gold-lined crimson overflap, a flamboyantly frilled white shirt and a gold-red stash around his waist that tied up his dark beeches. He proudly donned leather black gloves and matching large, knee-high boots that looked both terribly big and comfortable. And of course, the infamous musketeer hat rested upon his head; wide-brimmed, lopsided, and supporting a gold brim with a mass of fluffy-white feathers sticking out behind him. [3]

Yami scowled lightly at his taller friend. /Any particular reason why you're lecturing me _this_ early in the morning?/ he asked in mock annoyance. He would have crossed his arms but the long robes might have ruined the effect. /Better yet, any particular reason why I was forced into this _ridiculous_ attire at this unholy hour?/

Mahado's thin eyebrows rose toward the heavens. /You did not hear, little one?/ He ruffled Yami's hair affectionally. /The Queen's nephew is here. /

/Nephew?/ echoed Yami, batting Mahado's hand away while trying to restraighten his hair. Thank Ra it was always so spiky and unpredictable; any other way and the servants might have been able to fit one of those white, curly-coiled wigs on him. Yami shuddered at the mere thought. /She seems hardly old enough to have a nephew./

Mahado shrugged, murmuring quietly, /My dear prince, it has slipped your mind that I truly don't know a damn thing about English customs./ The words were harsh and strange coming from the normally sweet-tempered Mahado, but they rang as true as a bell. While Yami stuck true to the old Egyptian customs, Mahado had adapted quite quickly to the French way of thinking, the most prominent characteristic of which was a terrible distain for the English.

The prince's eyes grew wide and darted about, suddenly alert. He thanked Ra that they were speaking in the ancient tongue; any other language and the gaurds and servants might have reported them to the King for both treason and rude language.

Of course, no one would be terribly offended if they heard Mahado's comment anyhow. The French didn't like the English any more than the English liked them.

Mahado rolled his eyes. /Aye, little one, what I have been _trying_ to say is that the Queen requests you there to greet this nephew of her's./

Yami frowned. /But Father doesn't usually all--/

/Sophia begged./ Mahado stated flatly, sighing. /Plus this is a congratulation celebration of some sort; the man apparently had just gotten promoted to Commodore./

Yami's frown deepened, his eyes troubled. An English Commodore in the Royal Palace of the French was not usually seen as a good sign.

Mahado sighed a bit, offering a loosely-closed and gloved hand. /Come. We should go. Your father would have my head if we lingered here any longer./

Yami rested his petit hand gingerly upon his friend's without hesitation, though bitterness rose in his throat as Mahado's words soaked in. 'So that's what I am now. A trophy to show off.'

This happened far too often for his liking. He was usually confined to his room or other heavily monitored spaces, but when there were ambassadors and distant officials present, Yami was brought out like some great national treasure, paraded around and then locked away when he wasn't needed. For one, his father needed to keep up appearances; to the outside world, this was just one happy royal family, with a viable heir to inherit the French throne --Yami winced at the mere thought. But politics aside, there was just one simple fact for all this showing-off nonsense; despite all logic, the prince had inherited every one of his traits from his mother... including her infamous beauty. Though the French were unused to such brilliant hair or such dark skin, Yami was every bit as exotic and lovely as his Egyptian-bred mother. The mere sight of him was devastating on the eyes.

All the more reason for him to be paraded around like a rare gem.

Yami was helpless to do anything, of course. His father would kill him if he spoke of anything besides proper greetings, and under the roof of this palace, the king was _god_.

Yami still hated his guts.

* * *

To be expected, the corridors were unnaturally busy. The shuffling of cooks, servants and nobleman echoed through the great halls, occasionally broken by the distinct swagger of a musketeer. The palace air was stuffy and abuzz with spring excitement, thick with the warm, brilliant sunlight pouring through the stained glass high above.

The East Hall was no different, its usually quite mood abuzz with activity. Here and there a short bark of orders ran out, followed by shuffling as whatever poor individual rushed to do the bidding. Stiff, rigid gaurds stood every so often, their gaze blank and bored. A pair of musketeers, complete with their curly mustaches and permanent smirks, laughed loudly from the corner, teasing each other mischievously and waving their swords in great emphasis. A few women in large frilly dresses giggled as they glided past the two, leaving a lingering scent of perfume to trail behind them. Around them, a few servants rushed madly about in the last-minute rush of preparation, some carrying food, others flowers, others some ridiculous load much too big for them. Scattered among them were newcomers to this place; Englishmen it seemed, clad in large coats, frilly sleeves and white tights, complete with the powdered wigs and the tri-corner hats they were so dreadfully fond of.

Mahado frowned, first at the English, then at his fellow Frenchmen. He coughed purposely and loudly.

The soft blanket of conversation died instantly as soon as the two--followed by Mahado's usual entourage of musketeers-- came into view. There was a silent moment of stunned embarrassment before all the French within sight fell into deep bows, heads lowered and eyes upon the floor. The English hesitated, unsure of Yami's exact identity, but most caught on rather quickly and give stiff, wary bows.

All was silent.

Dutifully, with an air of pride, Mahado led Yami through the Hall, sending a glare of disapproval at the two musketeers that had been fooling around. Yami, on the other hand, seemed much less observant than usual, his eyes distant and strangely vacant.

Has my father requested my presence long? he asked softly, switching smoothly into fluid French.

Mahado raised an eyebrow, motioning --as he had done thousands of times before-- to the gaurds at the Hall exit to open the doors. His face was emotionless and blank as he stared ahead, watching with dull boredom as the gaurds struggled to open the door. He didn't say, your majesty. He, too, added the formality demanded from him by the French customs. Did you have plans?

The fiery scarlet of Yami's eyes softened. I want to visit the gardens.

* * *

Seto had a distinct dislike of the French. Strange they were to him, odd and unfamiliar people. He loathed the wild way they let their hair down and the ungainly clothing they wore that seemed far too large for their limbs. He doubted they followed orders as well as his own men, seeing that the musketeers seemed quite happy to give some attitude to their superiors. And they always seemed so touchy and so flirtatious, drinking rum and wasting money without a care in the world. But most of all, Seto disliked the pointless words of love and babble that flowed so easily from their lips; it made them seem untrustworthy, people of much talk but little wit.

Yet here he stood in this strange and unfamiliar hall, staring at the narrow-eyed face of George Lancaster IV, the King of France. It wasn't hard to tell that the King trusted him just about as much as the Commodore trusted him back, and it wasn't hard to detect venom hidden under the calm and delicate veil of formality.

Seto hid his disgust. This was his just reward for promotion?

He only came here at the request of his aunt, Sophia, who had recently married the French King and had sealed a tentative peace truce between England and France. Sophia had been the Seto's closest --and youngest-- aunt, and despite his self-denial of it, Seto loved her very much. In fact, she was the closest thing he had to a mother.

And she such was a lovely thing, a tender and sweet-faced princess of England. She had long locks the color of spun gold and eyes as clear sapphire as Seto's, a rare and beautiful shade that only she and her nephew had been blessed with. She sat now beside her husband, adorned with the grace and the jewels of a Queen, her slender form encased in the silky layers of a full blue dress, her hair tied up with pearls and gems in tall and elborate locks that fell about her charming face. She winked at him, beaming brilliantly in what seemed to be a mother's pride..

Seto nodded politely at her, grim-faced, his expression falling far short of affectionate.

"_Est-ce que votre voyage était long, monsieur_?" the king was asking politely, his stout frame jiggling with every word. (Was your voyage long, sir?)

Seto's ocean-hued eyes turned back to Lancaster, sharp and cold. "_Non, mon roi_," he answered smoothly in fluent French, "_Il était bien. La mer était calme et les vents étaient parfaits_." (No, my king, it was good. The ocean was calm and the winds were perfect.

The king seemed pleased, then fell silent. He seemed dully curious. "_Vous êtes très jeune, Commodore. Quel âge êtes-vous_?" (You are very young, Commodore. How old are you?)

"_J'ai vingt cinq ans, votre majest_." (I am 25 years old, your majesty.)

The king seemed both surprised and pleased, disbelief laced with his next word. "_Impressionnant_..." He turned to his queen, eyebrows raised into the puffy locks of his wig. (Impressive.)

Seto managed a modest silence.

Sophia laughed a lovely, twinkling giggle. "_Oui_, _mon_ _roi_..." Her French still held a slightly accent, but it was understandable. "_Il est aussi intelligent que notre fils, n'est pas_?" (Yes, my king. He is as smart as our son, no?)

At this the king barked a laugh, one that was both amused and bitter.

Seto was bewildered, his blue eyes narrowing. He simply didn't understand where this conversation was going. Yes, he was smart; all of England knew that. At the age of 10 he had beaten the wisest of the teachers and the wittest of the gamblers, and heck, he had been bored doing it. And yes, he was very young for a Commodore --the youngest in Europe's history, he believed-- but with his brains, was anyone truly surprised? And what was this about a 'son'? As far as he knew, Sophia could not bear children!

Sophia turned to Seto with warmth in her eyes. "Ah, my dear Seto," she giggled, in their native English, "Do not look so surprised. There are many things you do not yet know."

Seto was somewhat miffed by this comment, though he masked his face well with indifference. "Then I will learn," he replied quietly, carefully.

Sophia's smile broadened, but before she could reply, the Throne Room doors were pulled open and the shrieking of the hinges cut sharply through the silence.

"_ Saluez Le Prince Couronné!_" a pair of gaurds called out in unison. (Hail the Crown Prince!)

"_Ah, c'est mon fils. En retard, comme d'habitude_," sighed Lancaster heavily, as if the world was laid upon his shoulders. (Ah, it is my son. Late, as usual.)

Seto raised an eyebrow and turned, head bowed respectively though somewhat reluctantly. He peered up curiously beyond the rim of his hat and found his throat tightening rather painfully.

It was not hard to sight the Crown Prince. Even if every man in the chamber had been standing and waving their fathered hats like mad, it would have been near impossible to mistake the Prince for anyone but the lovely crown jewel and pride of France.

He was no more than a youth of 16, perhaps, and not nearly as large as the men Seto was accustomed to. The boy's frame was small and delicate, edging almost toward skinny, folds of red and gold almost hiding his slender limbs from view. What little Seto could see of the boy's body was bizarre but exotic; his skin was a milky caramel-chocolate, far too dark to be native to the fair-skinned kingdom of France; bright ebony, crimson and gold adorned his head, his hair wild and spiked; his face was slight but strikingly fair, with a glow of radiance unlike anyone Seto had ever laid eyes upon; and last but certainly not least, the boy's eyes were of a fiery and brilliant scarlet, sparkling and wise beyond their years.

Good _Lord_, he was beautiful.

Seto shot a quick glance at Sophia, one eyebrow raised, a rare flicker of uncertainly in his eyes.

She gave him a sweet, honey-coated smile back, beaming in pride.

Frowning, Seto's gaze turned warily back to the Crown Prince.

His petit shoulders gracefully straight, the boy was silent and stood there for a long moment, as blinding in his glory as the brilliant sunlight that cascaded over his lithe frame. Seto soaked in the sight with relish. There was something completely unearthly about the boy... Something so ethereal and airy that it seemed he was but a fallen angel reincarnated, far too saintly for the ground that he stood upon.

He was quite an impressive sight.

Then, with what seemed to be a silent sigh, Yami sauntered smoothly down the red carpet path with a regal and elegant sway, his piercing eyes focused on nothing but his father's face. If anything, he ignored the awed gasps and the flirtatious glances shot at him by various admirers, many of them Seto's Englishmen that had never laid eyes on this fair beauty.

On the other hand, the blond musketeer by the Prince's side seemed to be taking it all with great offense. Either that or his nervous twitch was an ever-occurring activity.

"_Mon père_," greeted the Prince softly once he reached the base of stairs leading up to the throne. He gave a little bow, almost timidly, his ruby lips drawn into a tight, pale line. "_Comment allez-vous_?" His soft voice was like flowing music to Seto's ears. (My father... How are you?)

"_Tu es en retard_," stated the king flatly, his tone steely and dangerous. (You are late.)

The Prince's head bowed submissively, his eyes focusing blankly on the ground. He did not seemed terribly sorry, though the slight finch on his face seemed akin to a reproached puppy. "_Pardon; je m'est reveillé tard_." (I apologize; I woke up late.)

The king sighed, then nodded in Seto's general direction, the movement sending ripples through the curls of his wig. He brushed aside some annoying strands with a careless flick of his jeweled fingers. "_Ce jeune homme ici est le neveu de votre mère, le Commorode d'Angleterre. L'accueillez-vous correctement, hm_?" (This young man here is your mother's nephew, the Commodore from England. Do greet him appropriately, hm?)

The Prince's ruby eyes lifted slowly, fixing Seto with a shy, almost flirtatious glace.

* * *

The man was very handsome, Yami had to admit. Terribly handsome.

Even for an Englishman, the Commodore was tall and commanding in stature, with a lean, athletic frame and proud, broad shoulders. He donned the strict military uniform of an English naval officer, comprised of a heavy navy jacket with intricate gold linings, white slacks, white tights, and a silver-gold undercoat with frills lining the wrists of his elegant hands. A powdered wig rested proudly on his head, curling around his pale face and tying back down his neck in a neat braid strapped with a blue ribbon. Balanced on the top of this wig was a gold-framed hat curled into the classic triangular shape, its broad flaps shadowing his face and lined with miniature feathers that bobbed with his every movement, though he held as still as a statue.

Yami could not help but peer closer, fascinated. His mouth went suddenly dry.

The man's face... Dear Ra, it was _flawless_. Like... like the heavenly Apollo, if there ever was such a being. He bore high cheekbones and pursed, pale lips, his skin a ghostly cream just tanned enough to show plenty of time out in the open. And his eyes...! Yami had never seen anything like them; a gorgeous, stunning shade of blue they were, as deep and arctic as the very depth of the ocean.

Those eyes gazed down at him now from their superior height, cold, piercing and unwavering.

It was all Yami could do to stop his knees from buckling.

"_Eh bien_?" demanded his father. "_Parlez, garçon_!" (Well? Speak, boy!)

Yami's mouth worked wordlessly for a moment and he vaguely managed to nod his head respectfully. "Commodore..." he greeted slowly in French-accented English, extending a slender hand from under his long sleeves, "It is a... _pleasure_ meeting you."

"My dear prince, the pleasure is all mine," murmured the young officer without missing a beat, his voice deep and silky. The clear and proud British accent made the French prince shiver in delight. The Commodore took Yami's hand gingerly within his larger own, bowing briefly to kiss it tenderly, almost as if he was afraid it would shatter in his fingers.

Yami quivered at the mere contact. "Uh... Welcome to France," he managed weakly, pulling his hand away quickly and ducking his chin to hide a glowing blush. "I do hope you enjoy the courtesy of this palace."

The man's blue eyes flashed, the edge of his lips twisting upward in a cocky grin. "My heart-felt gratitude, your majesty. I have been feeling most welcomed, thank you."

Sophia coughed, eyes twinkling. She stood carefully, clasping her tiny hands together with delight. "Well then, now that that's finished, I would personally like to escort my beloved nephew to his chambers." With that, she linked her slender arm in with Seto's, pulling at him with flourish. "Come, darling," she chirped, "We have much to catch up on."

Lips pursed and thankfully silent, Seto was nevertheless abashed by her frankness. Perhaps it was the promotion to queen that made her so open, but he had a dull suspicion that the carefree French ways were not a good influence on what had been timid and polite Englishwoman. "_Mon bon roi_…" He managed a quick bow in the direction of the throne, being ever the noble gentleman. (My good king...)

The king nodded briskly, dismissing him with a rather bored wave of the hand. "_À ce soir, bon monsieur. Vous serez notre invité d'honneur_." (Until tonight then, good sir. You shall be our honored guest.)

"_Je serai vraiment privilégié, votre majesté."_ (I will be truly privileged, your majesty.)

Seto's eyes met briefly with the ruby ones of the Prince, but their short-lived gaze did not last as Seto was dragged away, his men filing neatly to flank him and therefore blocking the two from view of each other.

Silence and formality still hung in the air like a thick blanket, though those on the ground rose to stand once more. Most still bowed their heads in the presence of the royal couple, but a few raised their eyes to peer curiously at the mini fleet of English marines, all cloaked in blue. The French watched the tall Commodore [4] in particular; the women seemed flattered by his presence, waving their fans at him, but the men were cold and wary, respectful only by the orders of their superiors. The French-British treaty was a fragile one, formed only because both tired of fighting; however, despite the treaty's good intentions, hostility and suspicion still ran strong and true on both sides of the English Channel.

Though he returned their enmity whole-heartedly, Seto calmly and politely dipped his hat at the French passer-byers as he meandered his way through the Throne Room with the queen on his arm. He, too, had orders from his own king; at no cost was the treaty to be broken. 'Even if no one has faith in it,' he snorted to himself. He certainly didn't.

A hush of whispering rose up immediately behind his back, making the Commodore twitch in irritation.

"_Oh, il est tellement beau!"_ a few French girls giggled as he went by. (Oh, he's so handsome!)

Seto wanted to roll his eyes. As if he's never heard that one before.

He passed the blond musketeer and mechanically sent him a curt nod, which the cavalier returned politely.

Their eyes met briefly and narrowed as one.

Then the Commodore was gone, nothing but a faint impression of cool blue eyes.

* * *

[1] - _Nénuphar_ (in French) really means water lily, but water lily vs. lotus... same difference! Meretseger is an actual ancient Egyptian name meaning 'she who loves silence', but I have yet to find an ancient Egyptian actually _named_ that. Oo I would have used 'Sheshen', which is the ancient Egyptian name meaning 'lotus', but I could not, for the love of me, find 'white'.

[2] - Judgment is, for those of you that are totally Egypt-incompetent, when the dead spirit goes before the court of the god Osirius, the Judge and King of the Dead. The dead's heart is measured for its purity and innocence, and if it is light enough, Osirius allows the spirit to pass into Aalu, the Egyptian heaven or Afterlife.

[3] - Mahado's uniform is that of an Anglo/French cavalier/musketeer from the 1600's or so (think the Three Musketeers and Louis XIV). Later on, when the 'English' men are introduced, I'm completely going to screw up history and place them in the infamous 'George Washington' type clothing w/ the wig, the coat, and the tights (think the Commodore Norrington from Pirates of the Caribbean; he was so hot!) Er... from what I know, this style of clothing was mainly from the 1700's, so I apologize to any historian I am currently traumatizing by combining these two styles. It just makes it easier for readers to distinguish between the different 'personalities' of the French and English (I'm stereotyping them, sorry) and also understand the Seto-Mahado clashes that are going to come later. :-p Plus I think the musketeer and the Norrington-type uniforms are so awesome. I'm sorry; I love guys in uniform. Even if they're in tights or what not.

[4] - Hm.... Well, this isn't a sure thing, but I found this rumor from surfing Pirates of the Caribbean fanfics (COMMODORE NORRINGTON!). Apparently 'Commodore' is a temporary title given to naval captains that are given momentary command of numerous ships, such as during a time of war or danger. Once the danger passes, a Commodore reverts back to being a Captain. But I agree with most POTC fans; 'Commodore' sounds so much better than 'Admiral', even if Admiral is the highest in rank of the Navy (Commodore is second). And plus 'Captain' is so overused. Still, I HIGHLY doubt that a 20-year old can make Commodore (Norrington was late twenty/30's-ish and even he was stretching it) but I couldn't bring myself to lower his status to captain and I couldn't make Seto ANY older than that. Silly me...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hm. That was... er... interesting. I have to admit that this was not my best work ever. Sorry if it bored you out of your mind. But still, the story will get much more interesting (as in Pirates-of-the-Caribbean-interesting) and romantic later on. REVIEW PLEASE! I know this whole idea is really strange (especially w/ Seto and tights; but hey, I dance ballet so I'm used to guys in tights :-p) but suggestions, compliments, complaints and requests are always welcome. NO FLAMES THOUGH!

And by the way, does anyone else have a weakness for guys in these types of uniforms? Especially guys with a British accent?


	2. Egyptian Roses

Once again, SO sorry about the mess w/ the first chapter. Thanks so much for the review guys! This chapter's kinda boring, I admit, but it was part of a larger chapter I had to cut in half. Enjoy! (Soraki, I wasn't sure if my email got through to you but I was pressed for time so I decided to update this chapter anyway. I'm so sorry! I'll try and contact you for the next chapter so hopefully that one will go through...)

* * *

  
... = translated French 

"..." = English (occasionally w/ un-translated words from other languages)

/.../ = translated ancient Egyptian

'...' = private thoughts

_italics_ = words/terms/pronunciations NOT in the language being currently spoken or in the English narration

**bold** = song lyrics

[?] = footnotes

AN = author's note

* * *

**Chapter 2: Egyptian Roses**

* * *

"You have grown, Seto."

Seto smirked, "Well, milady, I believe people tend to do that as time passes."

Sophia laughed, her golden locks jiggling. "Darling, what I _meant_ was that you are such a dashing young man now." She poked him playfully, tweaking his hat --something that she knew annoyed him greatly. "Tall, dark, and handsome, they say. Extremely popular with the ladies back in London, I hear. Have you considered marriage?"

Seto snorted, scoffing the very idea. "With all due respect, my dear Sophia, did you make me cross an ocean simply because you wanted to ask me that ridiculous question?"

Sophia fell silent, eyes tender. "No, no..." His voice was mellow, and Seto's irritancy melted a bit under it, "Its just that you seem so... well... _lonely_."

"I have my fleet," Seto answered quietly and curtly, without a second of hesitation, "I have my ships. That is enough."

The Queen frowned. "You cannot marry the sea, darling."

Seto said nothing.

They glided along the corridors in silence, the Queen's little steps falling in tune of the fluid grace of the Commodore's longer stride, Sophia's arm linked through Seto's. Upon the Queen's insistence, they had been wandering about the corridors ever since Seto and his men had settled into their rooms an hour ago. The pair was followed now by two guards, three of Seto's crew, a few servants and four of the Queen's personal handmaidens, two of which had been oogling Seto nonstop.

Much to the Commodore's annoyance.

"Tell me of your son."

Sophia's eyes lifted, her brow furrowing delicately.

Seto's voice was softer than normal, its harsh biting tone somewhat mellowed by a loved one's presence. He seemed almost... curious. "He is your son, is he not?"

Sophia hesitated. "He is... my husband's son, yes." Her eyes grew distant, a little wistfully. They suddenly darted about cautiously, looking for eaves droppers. "The King had a brief affair in his youth during a trip to Egypt, but it wasn't until recently that he found out that the woman bore him a son. So, naturally, he brought the boy here, being that there isn't and will never be another heir to the throne."

"Indeed." Seto pursed his lips. So the boy was of Egyptian blood. That would explain his most... exotic appearance. "And his name...? It is hardly uttered in England... for I have not heard it."

Sophia sniffled, "Yami, as we call him. It..." she hesitated, "It means 'darkness'."

'Darkness...' The world echoed in Seto's head. 'Strange...'

"Ah, but I am so terribly fond of him though," sighed Sophia, a little wistfully, "He is such a wonderful boy, and so lovely, too, wouldn't you agree? " Her voice was just a bit teasing, she being one of the few that knew of Seto's interest in men. She didn't entirely approve of it, but she tolerated much better than a few selected others.

Seto said nothing, choosing to ignore that last part of the comment. Sophia did this all the time, he recalled, and every time but now he had rejected each one of her proposed matches. "The King does not seem to take too fondly to the Prince," he observed slowly, caring less if the French around him were insulted at all. None of them probably understood English anyhow.

Sophia's lovely face darkened. "No, he doesn't," she whispered, a little sadly. "It is a pity,"

She left it at that.

* * *

/I don't like him./

Yami rolled his eyes. /You very rarely like anyone, Mahado,/ he teased gently.

Mahado brushed a stray flower petal out of his hat and waved a gloved hand with great flourish. /No, him in particular. I don't trust him. He was eyeing you, I swear./

Yami fought a deep blush, coughing modestly and eyeing the ground with fake interest. /He was not,/ he muttered, though he wished otherwise. Just thinking about that hunk of a man looking at him... Yami fought the rather ridiculous urge to swoon. /My dear friend, you simply dislike him because he's English,/ he said smoothly.

/Exactly. He's English,/ announced Mahado as if that explained it all. The very word was uttered with much disgust. /But I like him even less than those other English bastards./

Yami sighed but said nothing. Mahado very rarely cursed, and being that the musketeer was under the --wrong-- impression the Prince was a complete and virgin-eared darling, he usually refrained from using harsh words in front of the boy. But when it came down to the English... Mahado always seemed to get very upset. Or 'passionately irritated', so he claimed.

There was a long pause, filled with the soothing sounds of falling water and twittering birds but no human voices.

Frowning, Yami looked up, slightly bewildered by the abrupt silence.

Mahado was looking at him funny, his handsome face dangerously close and scrunched up ridiculously under the brim of his overly-large hat.

Yami felt his heart sink as he went into alert mode. /What?/ he demanded defensively, giving his friend a gentle shove away so that he might breath in his own personal space.

Mahado quirked a thin eyebrow into the brim of his hat. /You fancy him, don't you?/ Both accusation and mirth ran clear in his voice. The Prince could deny it all he wanted, but Mahado will forever be one of the few that knew of his forbidden attraction for other men.

Yami colored deeply, ducking his delicate chin /_Mon cher ami,_ you are gravely mistaken. I do not fancy him./ he managed with his most innocent and wounded expression. /After all, he is English,/ he added quickly, repeating Mahado's earlier words with a near mocking tone.

The feather in his hat bobbling, the blond nodded vigorously, his frown lifting somewhat. /Exactly,/ was all he said, though he sounded less than relieved.

* * *

It was late afternoon that Seto finally found some time to himself. He was in one of his more-anti-social-than-normal moods again, and Lord have mercy on anyone that dares to disturb his privacy. The Queen and her handmaidens had returned to the King's side and Seto's men were off duty and running about like idiots, flirting mindlessly with pretty French girls --'God forbid,' noted their commander with both disapproval and disgust. He did care enough to warn them; the French men were clearly non-too-happy about this invasion of their territory and their women, and despite the fact he --though fondly-- thought they were all nitwits, Seto would prefer that none of his men were killed, maimed or beheaded anytime soon. On the bright side, after the whole unpacking mess and he convincing his men --bless their souls-- that he did not need protection of any sort, the Commodore found himself alone.

Not that he minded.

He wandered around a bit, treating passer-byers with terse but ever-present politeness. He noted with amusement that most gave him a wide berth anyway, either fearing him personally or the wrath of the Queen. The cocky musketeers that managed to scowl back at him were greeted with a dangerously raised eyebrow and narrowed blue eyes capable of melting metal itself. Needless to say, most of the cavaliers skirted around him after that, which was perfectly fine with him since he despised them anyhow.

Not that it was obvious, oh no.

Given that he currently had nothing to do but intimidate the French, Seto faked interest in the architecture of the Palace. It was all rather beautiful and intricate, he noted, though he was not terribly impressed. As if he was ever impressed.

Without breaking his smooth stride, he mechanically tipped his hat at a bunch of slim-waisted, fan-wielding girls. "_Mademoiselles_."

The girls burst into giggles and eye-flutterings.

Seto fought the urge to roll his eyes, forcing a thin smile that disappeared promptly the moment it wasn't needed.

What was he doing here anyhow? Sophia called him here, yes, perhaps foolishly so. Now he was more of an ambassador than anything else, and though he loathed the mere thought, he had no choice but to represent his country on the unofficial basis of the much-hated peace treaty.

Seto's eyes twitched. He didn't belong here. He hardly belonged in England, let alone in France. Though Englishmen were generally as civil and uptight as they were rumored to be, he was even more so than most, believe it or not. When off-duty and forced to stay at his home resort, he often chose hunting and boating over courting women, preferring to spend his time alone or in the presence of one of his crew, whom he hand-picked and trained himself. And though he was always forced to go to pointless social engagements, he politely declined as many as he could, usually only attending to prove that he hadn't yet died in battle. He usually ended up wasting his time anyhow, spending most of his time outmaneuvering single girls and their persistent mothers and usually saved only by the well-planned 'sudden' appearance of –bless them-- one of his men 'claiming' that 'pirates' were attacking and the fleet desperately needed his presence. Out on the military field, on the other hand, he was anything but awkward. In fact, he was ruthless, sharp, and experienced, far surpassing the trainees of his age and effortlessly rising to title after title until finally, he reached the much-coveted role of a full English Commodore, now second only to the Admiral himself.

No one could understand it; he was related to royalty, fabulously rich, and one of the youngest high-commanding officers of the most powerful navy in the known world, and yet, despite being the most eligible bachelor in all of England, he has shown absolutely no interest in women, simple pleasures or any act of socialization, however civil and courteous he was.

It was almost unnerving.

Still, it was hardly difficult to see that Seto yearned for more. What necessarily, not even he knew, but whatever it was, it wasn't in rendez-vous's or small talk about how _delightful_ croissants could be. Call it youth, arrogance, restlessness, or whatever you want, but he was simply not willing to be in any way related to those young English noblemen that sipped tea like a girl and did nothing but sit around and talk all day about politics or simply how wonderful the weather was.

Not that he hated England, oh no. If anything, he was fiercely loyal to the Crown and patriotic to the point of obsessiveness. Which is why he found this a totally ridiculous situation for him to be in, considering he was both antisocial by nature and far too "English" to do any good here in France. Besides, he was a seasoned navy officer. A military man, if you will; he wasn't happy unless he had orders to give or something –preferably someone-- to shoot at.

And now, in this strange land with these strange people, he couldn't help but miss the ocean. He missed the open horizon and the endless expanse of blue that was the closest to freedom he would ever know. He missed the smell of the salty air and the cold spray of water that would sting his face until it was pale and raw. He missed the blast of bitterly freezing wind that would blow off his hat at the most inopportune times and the tipping and dipping of a sailing ship under his feet. Oh, he could almost hear the calls of his crew rushing about on deck and the shrieks of sea gulls among the billowing sails high above.

In a sense, Sophia was hopelessly wrong.

Seto was married. To his ships, of course, especially the elegant H.M.S. _Dragon_, a slender, blue-white brig of superb design and speed. He had trained and risen in the ranks on her since the beginning, and there were many fond memories related to her gleaming deck, though some were none-too-pleasant. And above it all, the _Dragon_ had engaged nearly every type of vessel imaginable in the seas and had taken nothing but a few small cannonballs in the side, none of which did any damage that Seto's men could not repair in a few days. There were other ships, too, in his personal fleet, all of which he loved though none as dearly as the H. M. S. _Dragon_; there was the H. M. S. _Falcon_, a small but extremely agile brig, along with the brunt force of the fighter-ships H. M. S. _Atlantica_ and H. M. S. _Queen Susan_ and the slow but steady presence of the schooner H. M. S. _Lady Eva_, who was rarely used in battle but brought a nice, aristocratic touch to the fleet.

But what good is a fleet with no sea to sail? God be damned, the ocean was Seto's life. His battlefield, his home, his _world_. Heck, he ruled the ocean, and if he wasn't on it, he wasn't happy. And an unhappy Commodore was not a pleasant sight. After all, it goes to say that a sailor on land was like a dolphin on the beach.

"Commodore!"

Seto stiffened and turned, hands clasped behind his back, glaring from under the brim of his hat.

A young, rosy-cheeked Englishboy --Edward of Wales, Seto recalled, a newer addition to his crew-- rushed briskly up to him as fast as his heeled shoes would allow. The boy took off his hat with a large sweep and gave a short salute. "Sir, dinner begins in an hour."

Seto eyed him coolly, raising a delicate eyebrow. "I am well aware of that."

Edward flustered a bit, bowing his wigged head and refitting his hat. "I apologize, sir, I merely worr--"

"Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary." Seto gave him a polite nod, though his frown ruined it. "You're dismissed, Edward," he then said pointedly, turning to leave without another word.

Edward gulped and saluted quickly before he rushed away.

Seto shook his head. "Blast," he muttered under his breath, resuming his aimless walk, "Only one more bloody hour."

He was hoping he would be able to avoid all human contact for at least a bit more.

* * *

Eventually, after aimlessly walking about with no destination in mind, he found himself out in one of the courtyards. Granted that they had far more land than the British island nation, the French took great delight in sculpting their surroundings. They seemed extremely passionate about this hobby, erecting elaborate palaces and grand gardens to the point of being overwhelmingly obsessive. At least in Seto's view.

He walked along the edge of the Palace in the shadow of one of its lesser wings, the rusty colored wood left unpainted and covered with vines. This particular courtyard was small but elegant, with circles within circles of tall hedges surrounding the outside edge, all covered with masses of hanging and blossoming flower vines. In their shadows grew tulips, roses, lilacs and lilies of all colors and scents, their petals scattering on the ground to form a wind-blown carpet. Paths of marble twisted through the hedges and cut through their ranks, overhung by intricate gold archways covered in creeping blossoms and tall enough to allow even Seto to meander about under them with comfortable room to spare.

The Commodore looked around warily as he passed under the first archway. Judging by the state of the building and the clear lack of people, this courtyard should be abandoned or at last overgrown.

But it clearly wasn't. The hedges had been purposely placed and trimmed, the vines had been neatly cut when they reached too far, the flowers had obviously been tended to with care, and there wasn't a single weed in sight.

Still, the aura of the place was strange. The flora here was not delicately-hued and perfectly arranged like they were in the other courtyards; in fact, if it hadn't been for the clear-cut paths, it seemed to grow nearly... _wild_. Traditional, gentle European blossoms mingled quite happily with fiery, exotic flowers Seto didn't quite recognize, and the air was filled with the sweet and pungent scent of foreign spices.

The tall Englishman leaned down slightly to examine a rose. It was blood-red with orange tips, far larger and with far more petals than the soft-toned and delicate European roses that grew near it. The Commodore stood tall, frowning down at the flower with distain usually reserved for lowly humans.

It was then that laughter, clear and twinkling, drifted toward him through the mess of vines. It was faint but rather close, consisting of two voices; both male, one a melodious tenor, the other slightly lower but just as clear.

Seto looked up just in time to see the blond musketeer and the Prince come down his path, giggling with their heads together like a pair of young girls. The Prince --Yami-- held on to the musketeer's arm as comfortably and as tightly as lover might, currently trying to stuff the blonde's hat down on the taller man's head. The musketeer was mock-fighting him back, laughing as he tried desperately to dislodge his hat from his head. He stumbled blindly about like a drunk, the only thing preventing him from crashing into the flowers was the Prince's grip.

Seto felt a hot jolt of envy flash through him. If he didn't know better...

The two seemed almost like lovers. _Could_ be lovers. The thought made his stomach clench violently.

Both Frenchmen stopped instantly the moment they saw him, still a good dozen feet away. Through the hanging vines and the blowing petals, a pair of green eyes narrowed in distain and a pair of scarlet ones widened in surprise.

"Commodore!" twin voices rang out, one in clear surprise, the other in clear detestation. The prince and his guardian sprang apart like children caught making trouble, smoothing their clothes and making a rather large fuss in cleaning themselves up, putting some clear distance between each other.

Seto's expression was emotionless. He bowed a little, lifting his hat. "Crown Prince Yami..." He nodded briskly at the musketeer, noting that the movement was not echoed back.

Yami blushed slightly and nodded back.

"With all due respect, sir," murmured the musketeer quietly between gritted teeth, one hand visibly on the golden hilt of his sword, "may I inquire the reason to your presence here?"

"My apologies. I was..." Seto hesitated, but very briefly. "...merely heading to dinner and got a little lost."

The look in the musketeer's eyes revealed that the shorter man believed differently.

"Dinner!" The Prince jerked upright, horror filling his fair face. "Oh, dinner at sundown!" He looked up with wide eyes, tugging at the cavalier's over-flap. "Mahado, we'll be late!"

The musketeer --Mahado-- sent Seto one last glare before turning to Yami, offering his hand. "We should go then. Your father will--"

"If I may say so," broke in Seto smoothly, hands clasped casually behind his lower back, "we still have more than half an hour. Plenty of time, by my word. No need to hurry." The words came out more of a command than a statement.

The Prince hesitated, as did Mahado.

Awkward silence filled the air. The two Frenchmen shared a meaningful glance. The Commodore watched them both with icy calmness, raising a thin eyebrow.

"Well then," started Yami slowly, quietly, "I should... head to my room for some rest before dinner." The way he said it sounded like a troublesome child trying to flee from the scene of the crime.

Seto's eyebrows rose higher, filing away that observation for later. "In that case, your majesty, I shall escort you," he stated with flourish, stepping toward them.

The Prince blushed furiously as he approached, taking a few steps back. "Commodore, I don't believe that's really necess--"

"Oh no, I insist," said Seto with a delicate scoff, waving his hand dismissively. His voice held no room for protest.

Mahado stiffened. "Truly, there must be more _important_ things for a man of your stature to do," he said softly, with a bit of a mocking tone in his accented English.

"Not as of the moment," interrupted Seto, ignoring him and stepping forward, bending as he offered one of his hands toward Yami. "Your highness, shall we?" he purred.

The boy blinked owlishly at his hand, his cheeks flushing an adorable rose. Sharing a quick, hesitant look with Mahado --who seemed a bit red around the ears-- he very hesitantly set his hand upon Seto's, shivering at the contact.

Without another word, Seto turned back the way he came and led the way down the path, his free hand still resting in the bend of his back while his other gently led the Prince along. On his larger own, Yami's hand was warm and soft, as smooth and delicate as a prince's hand should be. The slender fingers rested rather nervously on the Commodore's larger ones, and to still their fidgeting, Seto rested his thumb gently on the dancing digits.

He felt Yami blush beside him while at the same time, he felt Mahado's fiery, piercing glare boring a hole in the back of his head. The cavalier crossed his arms and shifted angrily behind them, following closely like a protective watch-dog.

'Well, well, well...' the Commodore thought to himself, amused, 'Indeed musketeers are not normally _this_ protective...' Somehow, the thought wasn't so much entertaining as it was troubling.

Seto felt the prince stop and cursed himself for letting his mind wander. He looked down curiously at the Prince's wild-colored head.

Startling the taller man, Yami slipped out of his grip and bent to the side of the walkway, brushing aside a few strands of hanging vines to reveal a bush of blossoming roses, the same as the large, fiery ones Seto had studied earlier.

They seemed to be wilting.

Yami radiated sadness and pity as he gently brushed his slender digits over them with care, lest they suddenly shatter and blow away with the wind. He murmured something in a language Seto could not understand, touching the crinkled petals with small, gentle strokes.

Seto was not an easily startled man. He had survived pirates, hysterical women, foreign prostitutes and equally foreign rulers in the same night without so much one hair on his wig out of place.

But now he felt a violent shiver run up his spine as a sudden gale howled around them, swirling loose petals around their feet and nearly blowing off Mahado and Seto's hats. Vines and leaves rustled madly in the breeze, flying about with acrobatic skill. Before the Commodore's very eyes, flower buds bloomed into magnificence and open blossoms flushed with color, their surrounding leaves growing taunt with emerald life.

It was all over in a second.

The wind died down and the flora around them settled, leaves and vines hanging limply once more.

Seto blinked once. Then again. 'That did NOT just happen.'

Mahado calmly refitted his hat, sending a sharp, near disapproving glare to Yami. The boy ignored him and stood with a pleased sparkled in his eyes, though his cheeks looked suddenly a bit paler than before. Suddenly, large eyes widening as his gaze fixed on Seto, fear and something like horror filled his expression. He seemed to be holding his breath, a wince forming as he waited for some scolding or some shriek of horror.

Again, like a child caught doing something wrong.

Seto noted this --again. He coughed a little, feeling thoroughly confused. Perhaps he had... simply imagined it all. Yes, perhaps all the sights of France was getting to him. He shook his head, eyes flashing like cold steel. He cocked his head and felt Yami flinch sharply at the movement, the boy's chin ducking like a scolded child. "Shall we go?" the Commodore asked smoothly, taking the boy's reaction in without so much of a blink. He offered his hand.

Yami looked up at him with wide eyes, hope and relief sparkling in their scarlet depths. He glanced at Mahado with bewilderment though the other man was too busy narrowing his eyes in suspicion at Seto to notice. "I--" The Prince shook his head, letting out a shaky breath and hiding his own confusion, "Yes...We should."

With secret delight, he timidly took the Commodore's hand once more, feeling a bit light-headed. Mahado scowled at them both.

They walked in silence until the edge of the courtyard before Seto quietly broke the silence. "If I may be so bold to say, you have... a very strange flower collection, your highness. The roses were unlike anything I have ever seen."

They turned slightly and walked along the edge of the building toward the growing sounds of the rest of the bustling palace. Sunset burned the sky a fiery purple and rose, the lasting remnants of its fading light basking the three men in a comfortable glow. A breeze blew past them, carrying a whiff of honey-buns from the kitchen far beyond.

Yami stiffened a little, fighting another blush. The Commodore's comment made him feel very... well... _degraded_. "They were... um... imported from Egypt," he explained slowly, feeling a bit silly and warily gauging Seto's reaction. "Sophia gave me permission to ask for them."

The Commodore didn't have much of a reaction at all. He did note, however, that Yami called Sophia by her name, not her title nor as 'mother'. "I see." Seto looked ahead with his chin high, exhaling thoughtfully. "And your fondness for flowers? As far as I am aware, only women have such a fondness for flora."

The words stung, intentional or not.

Yami frowned and looked down, hurt and ashamed. His hand tightened reflexively on the Commodore's own. "I-- I am from Egypt," he admitted quietly, trying to give as little information as possible. "I was raised in her ways, and I have learned to love all that is green and growing."

One could almost hear the gears in Seto's head turning with this new information. 'Yes, that would explain a lot...'

Yami frowned under Seto's silence. He studied the man out of the corner of his eyes and found no sort of emotion on the man's handsome face, which had stubbornly not turned toward him at all in the length of their conversation. Yami felt even more embarrassed. Of all people, this stolid English Commodore seemed the least bit interested in his hobbies. The man was obviously just making small talk, and here he had to go off and rant about Egypt, as if it didn't hurt enough to be looked down by the other Frenchmen because of his love for the country. Now most certainly the English thought him mad as well.

"Are you feeling well?" asked Seto suddenly, looking down at him with a visible frown. "You're rather pale... and you seem to be swaying. Are you ill, your majesty?"

Yami flushed with embarrassment, surprised the Commodore noticed. He himself almost hadn't. Immediately, he straightened a little as if to prove his weakness wrong. "No I-- Just... tired," he lied quickly, beginning to feel the toll of his magic-use.

He felt Mahado look at him sharply, with worry. Oh, this was bad, they both knew. The Prince still had dinner to survive.

"Ah, here are my men," broke in Mahado suddenly, openly scowling at both of them as he stepped up.

Indeed, as they approached an entrance into one of the minor wings, a group of curly-mustached, red-adorned musketeers came ambling down the steps, stiffing when they saw the three men. They hesitated, then bowed deeply, sweeping off their hats with classic French flourish. "_Monsieurs_..." (Sirs...)

"Come, my Prince," stated Mahado, taking Yami's other hand and nearly snatching him out of Seto's hold, the startled Prince yelping with the action, "Commodore, you needn't waste your time busying yourself with us. My men and I will gladly escort the Prince to his chambers."

Seto's eyes narrowed dangerously at the mocking tone in the other man's voice. He didn't _like_ his possessions being taken away from him. He was, however, stuck. Since Mahado's words were... well... 'nice' superficially, he couldn't simply reject them and snatch Yami back, which would have been rude and suspicious anyhow. He inwardly growled but forced a thin smile. "Yes, well then, good day, gentlemen." He nodded at the musketeers, then bowed at Yami, taking and kissing the boy's. He couldn't help but brush his thumb over those soft fingers one last time, smirking when he felt Yami shudder with the action. "I shall see you at dinner then, your majesty."

"Yes..." the Prince seemed a bit flattered, if not still too pale, "...Until dinner," he replied softly.

Nodding one last farewell, Seto turned and glided away, chin high and hands clasped behind him as if nothing had happened.

Mahado watched him go with burning eyes. Then, turning, he glared at his fellow musketeers. "_Allez--vous-en!_" he hissed, shooing them furiously. (Go away!)

Thoroughly confused and a bit startled from the rude order of their normally sweet-tempered Captain, the men bowed quickly at Yami and all but fled in the opposite direction.

Once they were alone, Mahado cornered Yami against the doorway and crossed his arms, eyeing Yami with the critical, disapproving eye of a mother. He seemed displeased, to say the least.

/What?/ demanded Yami in the Egyptian tongue, frowning and crossing his own arms defensively.

Mahado's eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips, saying nothing for a long time. Finally, he sighed, motioning Yami into the shadow of the doorway. /You used magic. In front of someone./ he accused. /And you shouldn't have. If your father or anyone else found out.../ he trailed off with alarm.

Yami knew the man had been itching to comment on something else and was rather curious as to why nothing of it came out. Still, when Mahado's words sank in, he winced under the stinging rebuke. /I know. I'll be more careful next time./ He hesitated. /I just... forgot the Commodore was there./ The excuse sounded weak, even in his ears. The Prince hurried on, /But he didn't seem to notic--/

Mahado leaned close, worriedly. /But you used too much energy,/ he continued anxiously, looking about warily, /I've told you before, Yami, you haven't learned how to control how much to--/

/--use, I know./ sighed Yami, pouting and a little hurt. /You needn't remind me every day, Mahado. Its not my fault you're a horrible teacher./

Mahado sighed as well. /I apologize, little one. But I don't know much more than you do; you know that./

Yami sighed. /I know./ He sagged tiredly against the doorway.

Mahado's hands were on his shoulders in an instant, his green eyes warm and worried. /You're weak. Too weak./

/Its nothing,/ muttered Yami, shrugging him off. /You said it yourself. I used too much energy./

Mahado pulled Yami into a loose embrace, feeling the boy cuddled limply against him, sighing as he rested his tired head on the taller man's shoulder. /You should rest,/ stated the musketeer with alarm. /I'll tell your father that you've taken ill and have some food brought to your--/

/No...!/ Yami struggled in his friend's grip, looking up with glazed, half-mast eyes. /No, you c-can't./ Feeling light-headed and a bit lost, he panted for breath, mind spinning in dizzying circles. /I told... I told the Commodore I'd be there for dinner./

Mahado's eyes flashed a brilliant green, in anger and in frustration. /So WHAT? That man is a total scoundrel! Nothing less than a bastard with an attitude problem!/

Yami blinked, feeling a bit lightheaded but managing to remember glimpses of his conversation with the blue-eyed Commodore. /Right,/ he agree half-heartedly, /He's rude and arrogant./

/Exactly,/ commented Mahado, narrowing his eyes. /So why were you not acting like yourself around him?/

There. The question was out in the open.

Yami feigned innocence, hiding his blush in his friend's shoulder. /Well, he's um... a bit intimidating, you have to admit,/ he stammered.

Mahado pulled him away at arm's length, looking into his eyes. Frowning, he struggled for the right words, though he could form nothing from the jumble of rage, worry, and confusion on his mind. /Yami...you don't have to go to dinner,/ he managed finally, as if talking to a little child. /Not for _him_./

Indeed, Yami barely comprehended him, breathing heavy and slow as he slumped against the wall. Words echoed in a confusing mess in his head. Yes, the Commodore was rude. Yes, he was arrogant. Yes, he was a stuck-up bastard.

But _Ra_, he had the most beautiful blue eyes.

In the end, four simple words slipped out of the Prince's mouth. /But I want to.../ he whispered.

* * *

AN: Hm. Confusing ending, I admit, but I couldn't think of another way to end it. I had planned to write into the dinner scene, but in the end, the chapter got too long and I decided to break it into two parts, with the next chapter being the dinner and another, slightly more romantic garden scene.

First off, I'm saying right now that Mahado is NOT the antagonist (really) of the story. For those of you that are curious, he's merely over-protective, not in a jealous-lover kind of way. If he screws up the Seto-Yami relationship in any way --which you all know he will-- its mainly because he's worried about Seto hurting Yami. I like thinking of Mahado as Yami's big brother, though Yami obviously doesn't want or need one. :-p But okay, fine. Mahado is a little jealous...

PLEASE REVIEW!! I LIVE ON REVIEWS!!


	3. Moonlight Sonata

Sorry for the lateness, guys! I didn't get a chance to finish this chapter before I left, and the trip took so much out of me that I kinda rested for a week or two. Sorry! Anyhow, I'm SO grateful to everyone who reviewed. I love you all! Glad you guys liked this story so far. Stick with me here! :-p AND A BIG HUG AND THANKS TO KAGEMIHARI AND MOONLITSPIRE FOR SO PATIENTLY EDITING MY WORK! :-p

* * *

... = translated French

"..." = English (occasionally w/ un-translated words from other languages)

/.../ = translated ancient Egyptian

'...' = private thoughts

_italics_ = words/terms/pronunciations NOT in the language being currently spoken or in the English narration

**bold** = song lyrics

[?] = footnotes

AN = author's note

* * *

**CHAPTER 3: Moonlight Sonata**

* * *

"No, milady, I assure you, pink lilies look just _fine_," sighed Seto for the umpteenth time, his eye twitching.

Madame Geneviève, a robust, rosy-cheeked French woman in tan with a mountain load of gray hair piled above her head, looked at him incredulously, fluttering her plump hands madly. She spoke with a shrill, opera-like voice and heavily accented English. "Oh, _no_, my dear Commodore, pink lilies will certainly NOT do! After all, my daughter prefers purple lilacs and --darling, _do_ try and leave some for the other guests!" she hissed to the young woman at her side that was currently stuffing croissants in her mouth.

Mademoiselle Jeanette choked a little and quickly dabbed her mouth with a white little napkin. She was pretty enough, Seto supposed, as pale and light as a young woman should be. She wore too much perfume, however, and the Commodore found it rather revolting to be anywhere in the general area.

"Anyways, now Commodore, _really_, purple is _such_ a better color than pink."

"Mmph." Seto nodded absentmindedly, staring down at his lap and quite wishing he could prang his forehead against the side of the table.

"Sir, if it's any help, you have my fullest sympathies," whispered his first lieutenant, Andrew, who sat by his left. The young man was munching quite happily on some buttered bread and looking rather cheerful about the whole ordeal. Almost TOO cheerful.

"Oh, you're just _dripping_ sympathy, lieutenant," mumbled back Seto under his breath.

Andrew sent him a grin. He was a wiry, slender lad, a bit on the short side and with dark, near-black eyes that glowed with warmth. He was twenty-four, a fine age for a first lieutenant, and renowned for his wittiness and his devastating charm. While his commanding officer was rather stiff and stolid, Andrew was a cheerful, talkative man, always smiling and commanding an audience. Having been Seto's closest --and probably only-- companion during their long military history together, he was also one of the few that could push Seto's buttons and not be decapitated on the spot.

They were an odd pair, side by side. There was Seto; tall, broad-shouldered, as still as a statue and built like a tiger. Then there was Andrew; thin, compactly built and with floppy, ever-moving limbs. There was Seto; silent, tight-lipped and glaring with icy eyes the color of the deepest oceans. Then there was Andrew; dark-eyed, bubbling, laughing, and flirting. At a glance, the only thing the two had in common was their uniform, and even that was different; Seto's, far more elaborate as a Commodore's attire should be, was crisp and neat, clean down to the very buttons; Andrew's outfit, the simpler one of a lieutenant, was rather messily tossed on and a bit crumpled, as if he had just woken up.

In everyone's eyes, even their own, the two men were unlikely friends.

Andrew, as apparent by his friendly nature, was born to a poverty-stricken but loving family of nine children, his siblings ranging from eleven years older to six years younger. Working in the fields for most of his young life, he spent a long, happy childhood on a tiny, crowded farm town where all the citizens lived within a mile of each other and knew each other like family.

Seto, on the other hand, was born and raised an aristocrat of England's highest classes. A member of royalty, he was raised in lonely mansions all over England, from London to the coasts. His childhood was not a warm, carefree one; in the elaborate and mainly empty rooms of his numerous homes, the boy usually remained with only a nanny and a few quiet-spoken servants that he rarely ever saw. Throughout his youth, he was lectured and taught daily by tutors that were quickly fired once they couldn't keep up with his talented mind. In his 'free time', he was taught hunting, horse-back riding, art, music, and sword fighting --all of which he excelled at. Still, despite being talented beyond any tutor's dreams, he never had much time to himself, to play with the toys that soon wasted away in storage or to look out the window and just ponder about theological things. Never once in the first ten or so years of his life was he allowed to speak with a child his age; most of the few that he met were peasants and servants, and he was told that they weren't worth his time.

Growing up bitter, lonely and far too smart for his age, Seto was drawn to the men of the British Navy; he liked how they gave or obeyed strict orders, how neat and orderly they filed into ranks, how brave and proudly they carried themselves, how willingly they gave themselves for both Crown and country. Finally, the boy's fascination grew to be too much and he eventually announced to his family --his two aunts and his grandparents, the King and the Queen-- that he was going to join the Navy; he had been only twelve then. The King and Queen, who hardly ever saw or understood this strange grandchild of theirs, were only too happy to get rid of him. By thirteen, Seto was enlisted in His Majesty's Navy.

Years later, when seventeen-year old Seto was already second lieutenant on the H. M. S. _Dragon_, sixteen-year old Andrew enlisted to earn some extra money for his family. A prankster at heart, he was ill-suited for the strict hierarchy of the Navy and never quite got the hang of 'following orders'. While he was admirably strong for his size and quite resourceful from his farming experiences, the youth was more adept to goofing off during training and getting yelled at by his superiors, one of which was Seto. On the other hand, Andrew found Seto fascinating from the beginning. Being raised around the idea of family love, the boy could simply NOT understand why someone his age could possibly be so stiff; therefore, he spent most of his midshipman days following Seto around and aggravated the poor young officer to no end, always trying to coax a little smile or laughter from the blue-eyed man. Most of his efforts went in vain. However, though highly annoyed, Seto eventually came to tolerate the boy, especially when he found that a little companionship did wonders for his temperament.

As it seemed, the two young men complemented each other rather well. Andrew was always there to fill in Seto's stolid silence with laughter, while Seto was always there to get Andrew out of trouble. If Andrew was wounded in battle, Seto was the one with a flashing sword that came running to save him, while if Seto was the one to fall, Andrew always came up with some miraculous, utterly _insane_ plan --usually against orders-- to rescue him from the clutches of death or something worse. If Andrew was being brash and irrational, Seto was always the first and only superior officer allowed to scold him, but if Seto was the one to attack without thinking, it was comforting to know that Andrew was always there to hold him back. Their friendship worked nicely; Andrew got his rare, well-earned laughs from Seto, and Seto, in turn, got a loyal friend and a worthy first lieutenant. It turns out that the farm boy, despite his lack of a proper education, was gifted with a sharp mind and real potential in military strategy, a skill that was growing increasingly rare.

Seto sighed under his breath as Mme. Geneviève dragged on and on about wardrobe decorations, occasionally lapsing back into French when she got really excited. How _exciting_ wardrobe decorations could be was beyond Seto, who questioned inwardly why on earth the lady would ask a _man's_ opinion on the matter in the first place. After a few minutes of tuning her out, he wondered briefly how long this woman could hold a conversation all by herself. And it wasn't helping that she was blatantly trying to hook him up with her daughter in the middle of random sentences about aforementioned wardrobe decorations.

Mlle. Jeanette sat by her mother's side and was playing the part of a single girl with enthusiasm, fiddling with her tiny hands in her lap and batting her eyes in the Commodore's direction whenever her mother increased the effort to bring out the young woman's 'attractiveness'.

Seto inhaled some more of her strong perfume --something with much too citrus-- and inwardly shuddered. With effort, he sent her a tight-lipped smile and mirrored his lieutenant, munching on a piece of bread; he wasn't really hungry, but any food was a bit more interesting than the two hyperactive ladies by his side. He winced slightly as he bit into the bread; it was a bit warmer and more flavored than the plain military kind he preferred, but he managed to swallow a few bites.

While Mme. Geneviève went on, Seto glanced down at the far left end of the table. Sophia sat there, dressed in gold and as pretty as a beam of sunlight, conversing happily with two elderly noble ladies that sat on either side of her. Being the guest of honor, Seto had been placed in the middle of the table, making him the center of attention; however, the position also left him very far from Sophia, who was the only lady Seto believed worth talking to. And seeing that Andrew was blatantly flirting with the pretty blond by his side and her sister on the opposite side of the table, Seto had no one else to turn to but Mme. Geneviève, who was now rambling about roses and how fast they can wilt if you don't put them in the right temperature water.

"_Saluez le Prince Couronné!_"

The cry made Mme. Geneviève jump, and for the first time since dinner started, she fell silent.

'Thank the Lord,' thought Seto, standing as everyone but the King and Queen rose. Bowing his head, he fought a smirk as he heard the doors open. He knew where the Prince was going to sit; only two empty seats remained and they both happened to be across him, one larger than the other and obviously fit for royalty. Seto wasn't sure if this was all some sort of sick cosmic joke, but whatever it was, he was surely going to enjoy it.

He heard small gasps of admiration and risked a small glance.

The Prince, accompanied by the ever-present Mahado and two more musketeers, stood at the far end of the lavishly adorned chamber under an even more lavishly adorned doorway, a delightful sight to both young and old eyes. He had changed out of his brilliantly colored formal robes into a tender colored one; his new attire was simple but elegant, comprised of a frilly-necked and frilly-wristed white shirt and a red vest embroidered with the elaborate gold designs of the Lancaster house. His shirt stretched down and parted to mid-thigh before it gave way to tight white breeches. The pant legs were tucked into knee-length white boots that wrapped wonderfully around the boy's slight calves and well-turned, delicate little ankles. A large white cape completed the attire, tied lopsided so it hung over one shoulder more than the other and ended up tossed around one of the Prince's forearm so not to trip him. The outfit was graceful and neat, and despite the style being strangely foreign, the Commodore raised an appreciative eyebrow.

"Good Lord..." Andrew whispered breathlessly over his shoulder, "That boy is candy for the eyes."

Seto worked to find his voice, coughing delicately into one hand and hiding a faint blush under the broad rim of his hat. "...Indeed."

He watched with the eyes of a predator as the boy slowly but gracefully made his way to the farthest end of the table, stopping to greet his father with a small bow and kiss his hand. The King gave him a small, quick smile, watching with a sharp eye as the Prince, followed by Mahado and two musketeers, made his way down the table to kiss the Queen's hand. Seto caught the faint scent of a strange, rose-like smell as the Prince walked by and was greatly relieved to find that it was far easier on his sinuses than whatever horrid perfume Mlle. Jeanette used. Sophia greeted the Prince warmly, patting him fondly on the cheek and flashing him a brilliant smile. Seto noted, with a bit of relief, that Yami showed no animosity toward her; if anything, he gave the Queen a quick peck on the cheek before making his way toward Seto and the two empty seats.

Mahado's flashing emerald eyes met with Seto's and hardened, but Seto paid him no heed, watching hungrily under a bowed hat as the Prince delicately seated himself, proper down to every last strand of hair. The youth flashed a dazzling, radiant smile to those watching him appreciatively and nodded, indicating that they could sit.

A quiet murmuring went up as the guests sat, women primping their dresses just right and squirming in their corsets. The men, Seto and Andrew included, flicked their jackets back before they sat, a move that seemed rehearsed but was a merely a reflex embedded in them from years of proper etiquette and getting wrinkled jackets when they didn't. Those men with hats and swords set them aside for young servants to collect and put against the wall. Seto felt distinctly uncomfortable as he did so, reluctantly handing over his pistol as well; if there was anything he hated more than stupid festivities, then being utterly unarmed was it. Naval marines and sailors alike learned a long time ago that if you didn't carry a sword, you would most likely die by one, and if you didn't carry a gun, than your sword would be of no help in the first place.

When the final guests made themselves comfortable, the food began to arrive in great, hot plates. As servants filled the room and scrambled about with steaming plates of meat and pots of stew, the whispering rose steadily into comfortable, steady mumbles. Seto noted with amusement that, besides those women trying to flirt with bachelors such as himself --or vice versa, as was the case with the younger members of Seto's crew-- the English mainly stuck with the English and the French with the French. To Seto, who was raised in the most proper of English households, it was rather rude to not speak the language of guests, but nonetheless French conversations clashed with English words and mingled in a confusing mess. The King was speaking rapidly in French with some nobleman, while the Queen continued on her conversation with the two of the older gentlemen of Seto's crew, obviously delighting in what must be her first English conversation in a very long time.

Seto glanced at the Prince. The boy ate with small, tiny bites, one hand tucked in his lap and the other gracefully wielding a silver fork. He ate mechanically and unenthusiastically, and Seto had a feeling the boy was purposely not meeting his gaze. Annoyed, the Commodore shifted his glance to Mahado, who was surprisingly not glaring at him but at the Prince. The musketeer hadn't eaten at all, and his gaze on the Prince was fierce, accusing and unwavering, anger mingling with worry. Curious as to what might have made the cavalier upset, Seto looked back at the spiky-haired Prince, scrutinizing him a little closer.

The boy seemed unnaturally pale. His dark cheeks were so pale, in fact, that he looked positively sickly in his white attire. The thought made Seto's stomach clench. He had half a heart to comment on his observation, but decided against it. There were too many people here and most of them would take offense --even suspicion-- if an English Commodore randomly asked about a French Prince's health.

Sighing, Seto stared down at the soup that had just been placed in front of him. Lord, he hated fancy foods. Unlike his crew and every other man in the military who dreamt about nothing _but_ good food when sailing abroad, he actually _thrived _on plain military food; it was harsh, raw, and basic, much like how he saw life. This creamy, heavily flavored gunk put before him was like pure sugar on his tongue, and eating too much of it made him feel sick. Andrew claimed it was due to his Seto's unnaturally fit state, the Commodore being so used to active naval duty that his body could no longer stand such rich foods. Seto, on the other hand, just blamed it on psychological logic. After all, the only time he saw such a rich meal was at social gatherings like this one, and it was common knowledge that he _hated_ social gatherings, so therefore associated good food with aforementioned hated gatherings.

He sighed again. He wasn't in a conversational mood and he wasn't hungry, but if he didn't look like he was eating, Mme. Geneviève was going to start blabbering about the reproduction habits of flowers again. Sighing, the Commodore lowered his head and picked up his spoon, inwardly making a face.

"A toast!" came a bubbling, female voice from his left.

Seto looked up, feeling a bit relieved.

Sophia stood at the far end of the table, smiling broadly, one slim arm raised to offer a pure silver goblet filled with rich, red wine. When she stood, everyone else followed in an instant, and soon she had everyone standing and mimicking her position. Seto followed, lifting his own goblet.

The Queen looked at Seto, beaming. "A toast, my friends, to our dear Commodore!" She waved the goblet in the young man's direction. "France's humble congratulations to a brave protector of the seas!"

"_Oui, oui_!" came the simultaneous cry. ( Yes! Yes! )

Seto managed a modest nod of his head. He stood a little taller, chin high, one hand resting gently against the small of his back.

"_A votre santé!_" intoned the King with a nod. ( For good health! )

"_A une longue vie!"_ cried a Frenchman. ( For long life! )

"For good sailing!" chirped one of Seto's crew.

"By God, for more promotions!" cried Andrew passionately, drawing chuckles from both the French and English.

Seto shot him a raised eyebrow.

"...For freedom," came a new voice, soft, tiny and gentle.

Seto's gaze snapped in front of him, fixing on the Prince. Yami met his gaze evenly, his fair face serene.

Indeed, Seto's initial observations were confirmed; the boy seemed far too pale. Not only that, but he wasn't standing as straight or as regal as he had when the Commodore had first seen him in the throne chamber. Still, Yami managed a weak smile when their eyes met, a warmth in his eyes that Seto rarely received from anyone but Sophia.

Seto felt his heart skip and shook himself inwardly, nodding briefly at the Prince. The edge of his thin lips twisted upward. "...For freedom..." he echoed, so quietly that almost no one else could hear.

The Prince smiled a little at him, albeit tiredly.

"To the Commodore!" cried Sophia once more.

"_Pour le Commandeur!_" echoed the natives and the guests, some in English, some in French. ( For the Commodore! )

Seto thanked them with a small bow, watching everyone simultaneously drink before tipping his head back and drinking a few sips from his own goblet. The only thing he truly enjoyed of the French was their wine; although it was a little sweeter than the toned-down old English types, it felt simply delightful as it burned its way down his throat.

Followed by many of those present, Seto settled back in his seat with a flick of his jacket, watching in amusement as a few stranglers --Andrew and a few fans of the Commodore included-- stood for a great deal longer, downing their goblets entirely before sitting. Amazingly, the Prince was among them. For such a slender boy, he had an impressive tolerance for alcohol. Beaming at the stunned Commodore, the boy sat and briefly flashed him his goblet --it was totally empty.

Seto blinked a few times, then blinked some more when the boy asked a servant to refill his goblet.

"I'll have you know, Commodore," purred the Prince just out of hearing range of a scowling Mahado and the other guests, "that I am _full_ of surprises." He grinned cheekily and Seto was glad to find that the wine had brought a little bit more color back into his pale cheeks.

The Commodore raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze even though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Indeed."

* * *

Seto never really considered suicide before, but he was very close to doing so right now. He was, quite literally, surrounded by women, most of them plump, rosy-cheeked mother-daughter pairs trying to catch his romantic interest. Jabbering in both French and English, they came like a swarm of vultures on their prey, and the moment Seto had taken a step away from the table, he found himself cut off by huge dresses, flapping fans and big hair. In a brilliant move worthy of military strategy, the woman had also dragged along their hapless husbands and brothers, sending them to cut off any means of escape while they settled themselves around the Commodore's path.

"Really, ladies," Seto stated politely, inwardly wincing, "I am not going anywhere anytime soon. I was merely heading to get my belongings and a cup of wi--"

He didn't even finish his sentence when, promptly, a mass of daughters scampered off from the group to the refreshments table and returned with cups and cups of wine, most of which they enthusiastically offered to him. Someone grabbed his sword and pistol --there was a brief fuss over them as well-- before presenting them to him with flourish.

Sweatdropping, Seto nodded politely at them and carefully accepted his weapons along with one cup of wine, sipping at it absentmindedly as the women began to bustle amongst themselves, some giggling, some eyeing him admirably, others making a fuss to fix their hair and dress. Their male companions looked helpless and embarrassed, shuffling uneasily under the Commodore's disapproving gaze. A few, claiming to want a drink, escaped from the clutches of the masses, hesitating only briefly to send a look of pity in the naval officer's direction.

Seto watched them go, wishing he could just follow their lead. Alas, he could not. Having been trapped in this type of situation more times than he wanted to count, he felt a rising sense of dread at the decreasing space between him and the flock of women. He inwardly sighed in despair. It seemed he had no choice this time but to simply play along and wait the night out.

"Oh, Commodore, do tell us poor French ladies about your adventures on the sea!" cried one pretty young woman in surprisingly good English.

Seto inwardly sighed but managed a thin smile, retying his sword with one hand and refitting his hat with the other. "Ladies, _ladies_... There really isn't much to tell..."

"Oh, I heard you've hung so many awful pirates!" exclaimed a mother.__

"Yes, actually, we hung three the other day at the gallows back in London and--"

"Are they hard to find?"

Seto managed a small laugh. "Milady, they seem rather fond of coming after_ me_."

The women giggled.

"Oh, do you get hurt when you fight them? That would be so horrible if you do!"

"Well, that depends. My ships--"

A plump lady squealed, waving her fan. "Oh, your ships, Commodore! Do tell us about them!"

Seto straightened unconsciously, feeling slightly less off edge now that they had wandered into a familiar territory. "Well, they're--"

"_Oh la la, est-ce que vos bateaus sont grands??_" asked a French mother. ( Oh, are your ships big? )

"_Oui_," replied Seto in French, frowning, "_mais pour les bateaux, les dimensions ne sont pas trés importantes parce que--_" ( Yes, but for ships, the size isn't very important because-- )

"_ Est-ce que vos bateaux sont longs aussi?_" asked another French woman, a daughter this time but ugly to boot. ( Are your ships long also? )

"_Et vite?_" ( And fast? )

Seto's frown depended. "_Oui_..." he answered slowly, carefully. He had a feeling the subject of these ladies' interest wasn't so much his ships as was... Dear Lord, they weren't implying something, were they? 'Heavens, where's Andrew when you need him?!' Out of the corner of his eye, Seto spotted his lieutenant in the corner surrounded by his own admirers, flirting shamelessly with a pretty brunette. The Commodore sighed and rolled his eyes briefly. So much for their normal 'Urgent Military Business' plan.

Evasive action was needed. Immediately. Seto's eyes darted about from under the shadow of his brow. His list of allies looked pathetically thin...

"Ah, Seto, there are you!" With great flourish, the Queen appeared out of nowhere brandishing a glass of cider and a very large smile. Much to Seto's relief, the other women parted and bowed for her. "Come, darling," Sophia linked arms with Seto, pulling gently and winking at his clear look of relief, "You simply must dance with me. This waltz is one of my favorites!"

Seto made a face at her but followed, figuring that even dancing was better than being around single ladies any day. He noted the waltz --one of Beethoven's-- twinkling through air from a piano set in the corner, with a young musician was having a grand old time beating out the tune. People swayed in beat with the bouncy melody, gliding about the ballroom with goblets of wine and friends in tow. The Commodore frowned. Having been so busy trying to save himself from the female vultures, he had failed to notice that the dinner table had been completely cleared away and every guest, like him, had been up and about, chatting amiably. Quite a few, like him, were just beginning to notice the music, and many pulled a partner --usually a reluctant one-- to the center of the floor for a cheerful little dance step.

"Are you really going to make me dance?" mumbled Seto as he was pulled along by Sophia.

The Queen handed her glass to a servant and her place at the end of the dance line, on the woman's side. The women were currently doing a little bounce step, and without hesitance, Sophia joined them perfectly, lifting the hem of her skirt and tapping her delicate, high-heeled feet along; toe, toe, heel, toe. "Oh, come now, Seto, you're a wonderful dancer!"

Seto sighed for the countless time this night and lined up with the other men, bowing as one with them when a verse was struck. Then, following a traditional dance he had repeatedly done enough to perform it in his sleep, he took Sophia's slender hand led her toward his direction a few paces, then switched places with her in three steps and turned to face her, clapping twice. [1] Then the step was repeated, with the men bowing as the women did their little tapping, then switched places again with their partners.

Hands together, walk forward, clap, turn, hands together, walk the other way, clap.

Seto did each step effortlessly and elegantly, albeit mechanically. As he led Sophia about the dance floor in tune with the other couples, he let his mind wander. The single women and their mothers still stalked him from afar, choosing to watch him along the edge of the dance platform and bat their eyelashes at him once in a while from behind their fluttering fans. Ignoring them, Seto looked beyond and shook his head helplessly when he saw Andrew flirting successfully with three girls at a time. 'Shameless, that man is...'

He felt someone's sharp gaze on him and scanned the room for the source, blue eyes narrowed as his body continued on without him. His sharp eyes fixed on the Prince, who was huddled with Mahado and two musketeers in the shadow of the farthest corner. Mahado, thankfully, was not paying the Commodore the slightest bit of attention as he chatted amiably with his two cavalier friends, though keeping unnaturally close to his young charge.

Realizing that he had been sighted, Yami looked away quickly, no doubt embarrassed.

Seto's eyes narrowed even more. He did not like to be watched.

Sophia, as she twirled around her nephew's tall frame, followed his gaze and smiled a little. Without missing a step, she accepted his hand and twirled under it, noting with amusement that Seto, though still dancing, wasn't paying her the least bit of mind. "You should talk with him," she suggested innocently, bringing the Commodore's gaze down to her.

Seto sent her a withering look.

"Well, you should," stated the Queen, her cheeks rosy from the dance and her golden locks bouncing as she went. "He's rather lonely."

Seto glanced at the Prince again and saw that Sophia spoke the truth. While plenty of people, both men and women, were eyeing the Prince, none had the gall to speak with him for more than a few short sentences; either the English were too shy and soft-spoken to do so or the French had some sort of order from the King to leave the boy alone. 'He looks miserable...' observed the Commodore, feeling somewhat better that he wasn't the only one that didn't enjoy these pointless parties.

"Go. TALK. With. Him!" commanded Sophia in a mock-order tone, giving him a little nudge in the Prince's direction.

* * *

Yami watched the Commodore move about with fascination. The officer was one of the tallest present and yet he moved like someone half his size, each step elegant, smooth and perfectly in tune with the other men and the music. He simply radiated poise and power, an Adonis-like figure of outstanding charm and talent. Yami wanted to sigh, hugging himself lightly. Surely such a fine man would marry some pretty woman and go down in history in flame and glory. He was _sure_ of it. And he was almost as sure _he_ would be no part of that history.

Feeling the prickly sensation of being watched, the Prince was suddenly shocked to find that he had been openly staring and that, worst of all, the Commodore had noticed. The tall man had turned his head over his shoulder and had fixed his icy blue eyes on the Prince from across the room. Yami ducked his chin, fighting a blush. He sensed Mahado shifting his gaze at him briefly and gave the musketeer a small, reassuring smile. Frowning, the cavalier sighed and went back to his conversation with his two old friends, buddies he's had since way back when in their training days.

"May I steal you for a moment, your highness?"

The deep, silken voice made Yami look up sharply.

The whole world seemed to slow and grind to a halt before his very eyes.

Looming above him, the Commodore's deep, blue eyes twinkled down at him as the man smirked, a cup of wine in either hand, "Or are you too... preoccupied?" One edge of his lips rose upward.

Yami's heart beat madly and leapt up to his throat. Sweet Nut, those beautiful, Ra-forsaken eyes...! He could stare in them all day! Indeed, he indulged himself the pleasure of doing so for a few seconds, lost in those sparkling blue orbs. The boy worked his mouth wordlessly for a moment, then coughed and found his voice. "No, I--" He felt Mahado stiffen and, without looking, rested a hand on the musketeer's arm to still and silence him, "I'm quite free." He gave the Commodore a small smile and felt his heart melt when the movement was briefly returned.

* * *

Seto led the Prince with his elbow --being that his hands were occupied-- to one of the small balconies on the far side of the room, parting the sheer curtain for the boy to pass before following him outside himself.

It was a beautiful night, quiet, serene and peaceful. The sky was clear and starry, a dark velvet filled with tiny twinkling stars and a stunning crescent moon that bathed them in silvery light. A chorus of crickets sang sweetly in the distant grass and an owl hooted softly from a nearby tree. The balcony overlooked the main entrance, giving them a beautiful view of the large white courtyard and the weeping willows that surrounded it, the trees swaying to unheard music. Glittering in the moonlight, a large, rectangular marble pool dominated most of the courtyard, dotted with elegant fountains and lovely statues of a scantly clad Aphrodite. The twinkling, bell-like sound of falling water joined the crickets and the owl, followed by distant laughter from the night-shift gaurds and musketeers chatting from afar.

Seto took a deep breath of clean night air and immediately felt immensely better. He exhaled slowly, relishing the quiet moment. "My Prince, I have to admit," he started casually, sipping at the bittersweet wine and offering Yami the other cup, "I highly doubt your guardian likes me very much."

Hesitantly accepting the goblet, Yami held it to his lips and sipped shyly, looking down into the courtyard at nothing in particular. His lovely face shimmered eerily with reflected light from the fountain waters below. "I apologize for him," the boy whispered quietly, embarrassed, "Mahado doesn't take too fondly to Englishmen."

"I see," Seto leaned against the railway, looking out. The small feathers in his hat rustled as a breeze blew over them, the same breath of wing tugging at the frills on his shirt. "And what about you, your highness?" he asked finally, looking at Yami and seeing the boy blink his beautiful red eyes at him. Raising an eyebrow, the Commodore chose his next words very carefully, "What do you think of us Englishmen?"

Yami blushed furiously into his cup, scrambling for an answer that wouldn't be _terribly_ embarrassing. "...I don't hold animosities toward anyone," he whispered finally, voice small.

"Indeed." The Commodore calmly took another sip, looking out into the fountain with stony silence.

For a while, there were no more words between them, just an awkwardness that hung in the air.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yami could not resist but study the officer's marvelous profile with no little amount of adoration. Those beautiful sapphire eyes... That strong nose... Those pale lips... That elegant jaw...

Jumping when the Commodore's voice broke the silence, the Prince quickly looked away lest he be caught staring at the Englishman for the second time in one night.

"I've been... meaning to ask you something, your highness," stated the Commodore suddenly, awkwardness in his suddenly tight voice. He straightened to his full height, his free hand resting against his back once again, a reflex burned into him from years of military training. For a moment, he was silent, brow furrowed as if searching for the right words. "When I was receiving the toast, you wished me.... _freedom_," he murmured, blue eyes troubled as they turned and fixed on Yami, "...Why?"

The French Prince met Seto's eyes evenly for a minute before looking away, flushing lightly. "Well, I..." he trailed off, uncomfortably.

Seto said nothing, watching the Prince carefully and urging the boy on with his attentive silence.

Yami sighed, voice tiny, "... I thought it was something you wanted."

At this, the Commodore's thin eyebrows arched up into the shadow of his hat, nearly disappearing into his wig. With some effort, he kept his voice even. "What makes you believe that?" he asked gently, truly curious.

Yami's exquisite crimson eyes flashed in the moonlight with a thousand emotions, none of which Seto managed to catch or even remotely understand. The lovely Prince turned away, uneasy. "... It's nothing, Commodore. Think nothing of it," he mumbled quickly.

"No, truly, your highness, speak your mind."

Yami gave him an odd look, then sighed. "Well, its silly, really... I--I merely thought that you looked so uncomfortable here... with all these people, I mean. It seemed so... _unnatural_ for you." Yami winced as he spoke, clearly expecting some kind of harsh scolding to come his way. When there was none, he continued, voice dipping softly. "A fine Commodore like you belongs on the ocean, sir... On a ship, at the very least." His voice fell once more until it was barely audible. "Not here."

Blue eyes widened slightly and briefly flickered toward the boy. Not for the first time tonight, Seto was genuinely surprised. Was he really that easy to read? The thought was frightening. Frowning a bit, he rested his weight on one foot and took another sip of his forgotten wine. "Well well, your majesty..." he murmured thoughtfully against the brim of his cup, "You are gifted."

Yami blinked.

Seto arched an eyebrow toward him, smirking. "You can read people well." He nodded, as if pleased, "It is a rare gift." 'Albeit one that worries me a bit,' he added to himself.

Yami blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Commodore, but I'm afraid you're mistaken. It was a wild guess. After all, either you liked or you didn't like being here. I merely opted for the latter."

Seto snorted. "Well then, you were correct." He gave Yami a thin smile with more warmth than he even realized he gave. "Though the party was lovely, I dare say I certainly do not enjoy these gatherings much."

Yami's gaze drifted behind them into the warm glow of the party, "Neither do I," he whispered, faintly.

Their gazes met once more and for the first time, they both smiled at each other. No glares, no wary looks, no frowns, no furrowed brows, no formal words... Just nice, small smiles.

"Oh, _there_ you are! Dear GOD, man, you must simply try this cake. French chocolate, no doubt, and-- oh, _hello_, your highness!" chirped Andrew, grinning broadly with two plates of cake, one of which was currently half eaten.

Seto turned with eyes that could kill.

Andrew, on the other hand, was far too immune to the look to be worried. He did, however, step down a step, frowning a little and looking back and forth between the two on the balcony, "I'm sorry... Am I interrupting something?" he asked innocently.

Seto wanted to scream. JUST when he had the near-mute boy talking...! Thankfully, years of military training kicked into gear and he managed a stern glare, his lips pursing with discontent.

"No, sir, you're not," said Yami gently, inwardly sighing through he shifted his smile from Seto to Andrew. "I don't believe I caught your name, _monsieur_?"

Andrew lifted his chin proudly. "First Lieutenant Andrew Giles, your highness, but Andrew will do just fine." With difficulty, he shifted one of the plates of cake to the other hand; then, with grace even Seto admired, he successfully balanced both plates on one hand and leaned down to kiss Yami's hand, bowing with flourish. Looking up from the Prince's fingers, the lieutenant grinned. "Has anyone told you how fetching you look tonight, my fair Prince?"

Yami colored a little, smiling broadly. "Quite a few people, actually, but thank you for the praise nevertheless."

Seto noted that the boy looked positively radiant with that smile and made a mental note of it. "Now, Andrew, really--"

"Chocolate, sir!" Andrew shoved the untouched cake in Seto's face with enthusiasm, "French chocolate, by word! Have you had it before?! It's positively marvelous, I tell you!"

"I've had it quite a few times, actually, and--"

Andrew waved the cake in the Commodore's face and Yami almost laughed at the utterly baffled look on Seto's face. "Sir, this cake needs your immediate attention," the lieutenant said with an overly grave tone, planting the plate firmly in the officer's grip, "I believe you will do your duty, dear Commodore." He looked so dead serious it was ridiculous.

Seto raised an eyebrow as lowered the plate, sighing with exasperation. "Andrew, I really doubt this is necessar--"

Andrew ignored him. He turned to Yami, positively beaming. "Your highness, would you like some? I'm afraid I've already touched this one, but I'd be glad to get you a slice."

Yami shook his head a little, "No thank you, good sir," he said with a soft sigh, respectfully, "I'm not very hungry tonight."

Seto sent the boy a sharp look. Again, he noted that the Prince's cheeks had reverted to being sickly pale.

"Ah, 'tis a shame," murmured Andrew. He turned briefly to Seto, raising an eyebrow. "You, sir, are going to eat. Under the oath of the British Naval Code, I tell you."

Seto sighed again. "Andrew, really, I--"

"Oh, lieutenant, why don't you show that musketeer that wonderful cake?" piped in Yami suddenly, hurriedly. Now that Andrew had parted the curtains of the balcony, Mahado had spotted them and was making his way toward them, looking positively murderous and obviously intent on breaking the little party up. "He is a very dear friend," the Prince hurried on, "but I daresay that he hasn't been eating much recently and I worry that--"

"Not to worry, dear Prince," announced Andrew with a broad grin, "He looks like he could use some cheering up anyhow." With a wide smile, he took Seto's cake out from the Commodore very hands --again, Seto looked baffled and Yami didn't hide his giggles this time-- and ambled down the steps toward Mahado. "Hello there, dear cavalier!" he called cheerfully.

The musketeer didn't notice the British officer until it was too late. Blinking, he almost ran the shorter man over and stopped briefly to utter a pardon, ever the gentlemen. Seto and Yami watched with amusement as Andrew cheerfully greeted him back and motioned to the half-eaten cake in his hand. When Mahado politely declined and shook his head, Andrew pushed harder, leading the protesting man to the dessert table. The musketeer, as he was being pulled away by the elbow, sent an angry and confused glance over his shoulder toward Yami's direction. The boy merely shrugged and sent him his most innocent expression, grinning.

"I uh... apologize for my lieutenant, your majesty," said Seto finally with a small cough, his normally steely voice a bit sheepish. "He can be very... _persistent_."

Yami laughed a charming, twinkling laugh. "Well, Commodore, I rather like the man. I haven't met anyone with such a wonderful sense of humor in years."

"An absolute madman he is sometimes," Seto agreed thoughtfully, a bit fondly, "He has a problem with authority, as well. And, as you've seen, he's... rather fond of food," he explained awkwardly, shaking his head helplessly, "And the worst thing he, he's under the impression that I'm far too skinny for a man my size."

Yami blinked, than laughed again. "Yes, well, I suppose out on the open sea, everyone needs a mother figure around to look out for them."

Something flashed in Seto's eyes and they suddenly became distant and narrowed.

Yami felt his heart sink; was there something he shouldn't have said? Biting his lip, he glanced around awkwardly and saw a horde of women hurrying toward them out of the corner of his eyes. Apparently the ladies had spotted the two men through the balcony curtains. The Prince's lovely eyes narrowed dangerously. Ra forbid someone take this beautiful man away from his side!

"Come, dear Commodore," announced the Prince quickly, linking his arm through a stunned Seto's and pulling gently toward the right, away from Mahado and Andrew and the approaching women. "Let us go before we are chased down by hounds."

"Hounds?" A thoroughly confused Commodore shifted his gaze from Andrew and Mahado to Yami, then to the growing mass of females to their left. His eyes widened briefly and he sent Yami a grateful smile, albeit a rare one. "Why, yes, that sounds like a marvelous idea."

* * *

Seto, with a victorious and happy Yami on his elbow, found himself in the corner of the room far from most of the other guests, just watching everyone else eat and chat and dance. Yami had yet to let go of his arm and, while Seto found this odd, the officer had absolutely no complaints. If anything, the Prince's lovely figure beside him was a blessing; seeing royalty with a high-ranking British naval officer was enough to intimidate any sane guest, so therefore the two were left in comfortable silence, still sipping their half-finished wine. Neither could find anything to say, so of course, they didn't speak at all.

Still, Yami was elated. True, he was feeling far more tired than he had been earlier, but with the gorgeous, blue-eyed Commodore's arm to lean against --Ra forbid the man notice-- there really wasn't anything to protest about. He sighed a little, daring to rest a cheek against the thick blue jacket, inhaling a salty, slightly musky scent he realized must be the aroma of the ocean. It smelled foreign and delightful, and Yami fought a blush at the thought. [2]

Contrary to the Prince's belief, Seto did notice the shift of weight on his arm. Glancing down from his cup of wine, he was pleasantly surprised to find the charming little Prince, obviously tired, leaning very very gently on his arm. The action was hardly noticeable, but extremely unfamiliar to a man who had been raised in a society where the slightest affectionate touch usually meant you were one, married, two, courting, or three, in the privacy of one's bedchambers. Seto felt warmth burning upward from his neck to his cheeks.

Lord, what was wrong with him? He had taken scolding from the Admiral himself and had been shot by pirates on numerous occasions, but now he, of all people, was getting flustered at the mere thought of someone hugging his arm! The right thing to do, of course, was to be a proper gentlemen and merely move away, but the only thing he wanted to do right now was just stand still and let the lovely boy rest on his arm all he wanted to. So, bewildered, the Commodore did just that; he stood perfectly still, barely breathing, watching the Prince intently out of the corner of his eye. 'Lord, the boy really is beautiful...' he thought dazedly.

"Commodore!"

Pulling off a rather hard task, the sweet voice startled the Commodore half out of his skin. He snapped to attention, feeling terribly embarrassed and half choking on his wine. Yami, also startled, shifted off his arm and blushed furiously.

Taking in a deep breath, Seto straightened and nodded respectfully at an approaching Sophia, "Your majesty..." he greeted, coughing a bit around the tightness in his voice.

The lovely woman approached them with a wide smile; if she noticed their awkwardness, she said nothing. "Ah, there you two are!" There was a glint in her eyes that made both men uneasy.

* * *

Seto inwardly groaned. He was, once again, surrounded by single ladies, only this time they were much closer than he ever wanted them to be. Thankfully, he was not their center of attention this time. Instead, Edward -- the young boy that had warned Seto before of dinnertime-- was the one being lavishly praised as he sat before the piano, half blushing from all the compliments and half attempting to play a charming little song that Seto vaguely remembered from his childhood.

"Isn't it a marvelous song, Seto?" By his side, Sophia sighed blissfully. "Oh, I haven't heard it for many years. Do you not remember, darling? I used to play it for you all the time."

'Ah, that would explain it,' Seto thought to himself, nodding and managing a small smile. Sophia and her lovely piano skills were one of the extremely few happy memories of his childhood. As a princess, she had often visited him in his various homes and had noticed that he had been lonely. Bless her soul, she used to cheer him up by playing some piano songs for him while he worked away at his studies on a nearby table. Though he rarely admitted to it, Seto loved her for it.

Edward finished his song and was rewarded by laughter and applauding from the numerous people that had gathered, Englishmen, Frenchmen, and royalty among them. The young boy blushed furiously and managed to mumble a quick 'thank you' before leaping off of the piano bench, apparently unwilling to play another song or to even be anywhere in the general vicinity.

A few guests, losing interest, drifted away, while some went to praise Edward some more and others simply stayed by the piano and chatted amongst each other.

"My dear Commodore, why don't you play a song?"

Once again startled, Seto sent Sophia a horrified glare.

The Queen only grinned at him with innocent, twinkling blue eyes.

The remaining guests --most of them either Seto's crewmembers or the single ladies that still awaited his undivided attention-- broke out into excited gossiping.

"Oh, Commodore, do play!"

"_Une bonne idée!!_" ( A good idea! )

"How simply wonderful! A musical talent as well!"

"Well, Commodore, give us a song!"

Feeling everyone's eyes on him, Seto frowned and backed away a little. "No, really, I couldn't. I haven't played since I was a child," he protested meekly.

"Darling, certainly you still remember all those songs I taught you?" laughed Sophia, giving him a playful shove toward the piano. "You were such a wonderful player!"

"Yes, Commodore," came a soft voice by his side. Yami looked at him with sparkling eyes and an amused but sincere smile. "Please play. I want to hear."

Seto gave him a long, blank look, then finally sighed, his expression unreadable. "Yes, yes, I will then." Ignoring the rising bustle of excitement and the increasing number of single women that flocked over, the officer settled his goblet of wine on the top of the piano and maneuvered himself on to the bench, flicking his jacket over the back side. He felt a little too much like some renowned maestro at a concert, and the thought made him shudder.

For a long moment, the Commodore stared blankly at the keys, a visible wince on his face. "I apologize," he started with a sigh, to no one in particular, "I really don't remember much of anything."

"A simple song then," someone offered in encouragement.

"Yes, like--" Sophia drifted off, deep in thought. "Like..."

"_Moonlight Sonata_!" someone else suggested. [3]

"A wonderful choice, lad!" cried Sophia, turning to Seto with a smile, "Yes, darling, play for us the _Moonlight Sonata_."

Sensing Yami's gaze boring into him, Seto sighed once more and took a deep breath. Rolling up some of the frills around his wrist, he ran his hand across the keys for a second before he settled his fingers on them. Yes, this felt vaguely familiar... He began to play, pressing the keys uneasily and struggling to recall memories of a distant time where he, as a little child, used to sit with Sophia in his lonely little room and poke away at the piano under her persistent instructions. Now, many years later, his playing was awkward and slow at first, but years of practice came flowing through his hands at last and evened out the sound. As the familiar melody washed over him, Seto felt the strain of the last few days and hours suddenly lift from his shoulders, breathing deeply as tension flowed from his system with every strike of the keys. He would never admit it, of course, but he rather liked music. It wasn't like a person; _you_ created it, you warped it, and you did to it what you wanted to do. And the result was usually beautiful if you could play right. Sometimes he truly did miss Sophia and all her songs... especially at night when sailing on the farthest part of the ocean, with nothing but the crashing of waves against his ship's hull and the occasional footsteps of his crew to keep him company.

Girls sighed blissfully as the beautiful song came strumming out of the large piano, giggling occasionally at each other. The others watched the Commodore and whispered among themselves all in appreciation and wonder. A few elderly women swayed gently to the song, immersed in the rising and falling of soft notes. Now by her husband's side, Sophia beamed, tapping her small fingers in tune with a song she no doubt taught Seto herself.

Yami watched the Commodore with fascination. The man, posture elegant and proud, seemed totally engrossed in his activity, his blue eyes closed as in blissful concentration. His deft hands glided about the piano, crossing each other gracefully and striking keys with elegant care, never once ceasing their movements. The feathers on the officer's dark hat shook with every movement of his head, dancing their own little ballet to the music as he shifted to reach distant keys.

The Prince felt his heart flutter and the rest of the world fall away. Ra, this man was talented beyond belief. A Commodore at twenty-five, a charming gentlemen, a most eligible bachelor and now an able musician. This stern, rather arrogant naval officer certainly didn't _look_ like the musical type, but here he was, playing away like he was born to play the piano... Ra, what other gifts did this wonderful man hide behind that cold complexion?

Yami blushed at the implications of that thought and inwardly scolded himself.

"_Etes-vous fièvreux, votre majest_?" questioned a concerned French voice in his ear, making the Prince jump. "_Si je peux dire, vous me semblez quelque peu rougi_." ( Are you feverish, your majesty? If I may say, you seem rather flushed. )

Yami turned to find troubled green eyes peering at him with open worry. He shook his head quickly, "_Non, Mahado, je ne suis pas malade et je n'ai pas une fièver. Tu n'as pas besoin t'inquiètes."_ ( No, Mahado, I am not ill and I do not have a fever. You needn't worry. )

"_Mais je dois_." ( But I do. ) Mahado's eyes shifted briefly over Yami's shoulder to Seto, who stilled played away. Those same green eyes hardened, unreadable. For a long minute, the musketeer simply eyed the Commodore, then turned toward Yami, lips pursed and eyes warm once again. "_Vous devriez vous reposer. Il se fait tard_." he offered gently. ( You should rest. It is late. )

Yami opened his lips to protest but ended up sighing. Yes, he should. Caught up in the song, he hadn't yet noticed that the wine had worn off and he was left with limbs that felt like soft putty weighed down by dead weights. Accepting Mahado's hand, he nodded a good night to the Queen, then turned toward Seto, biting his lip. He wanted very much to say goodnight to the handsome Englishman, but he couldn't bring himself to stop the marvelous music.

So, finally, he turned to Mahado and nodded.

Without another word, the musketeer led him gently through the mass of people and through the now empty chamber --most of the people now having crowded around the piano. The twinkling sonata followed them as they passed into the darkened hall, echoing sweetly.

Yami, despite himself, found himself humming the delightful song, swaying gently as it carried him away to sweet thoughts about a certain blue-eyed British officer.

* * *

[1] - From what I've seen in movies and read in books, 17th and 18th century European dancing included women in corsets with huge hair and even bigger dresses as well as men in tights and heels. Therefore, the dance steps were EXTREMELY simple and required no more than hand to hand touching and a little walking around... I think.

[2] - I know, the arm through elbow thing is really a man-woman thing, but I couldn't think of a proper gesture for Seto and Yami that involved touching more than just hands. I mean, you can't have them blatantly groping or something in front of everyone else, but I didn't want them to be standing like four feet away from each other cuz of the hand thing. Besides, I thought it might be cute. :-p

[3] - _Moonlight Sonata_ is a real song, and an extremely famous one at that. It's an extremely beautiful and slow piano piece, by Beethoven (a thanks to Kagemihari cuz I forgot who wrote it) Anyway, I highly suggest anyone who hasn't heard of it to go and find it. The title should be enough to get you the song.

* * *

AN: AAAUUUGGGHHH! This story just seems to keep dragging on forever! I wrote most of this chapter before I left on my trip and tweaked it around a bit once I got back. Originally, this was part of Chapter 2 before I separated it; now its gotten far too long so another chunk of it has been set aside to become Chapter 4. (SIGH) Anyways, hope it isn't TOO boring. If things go as planned, then the next chapter should be a romantic midnight scene under the moon and the one AFTER, hopefully, the first to take place on the ocean. (YAY!) Sadly, however, I have no idea where this story is going to go once they start sailing. HELP!

And by the way, Andrew is MINE. :-p ALLLL mine. And I love him to bits. His name is a combination of two character's names from Pirates of the Caribbean, my inspiration for this fic; Norrington's First Lieutenant Andrew Gillette (the guy who made the infamous 'mermaid' comment) and Giles, the old guy with the huge side burns that used to work under Norrington and later joined Jack as a pirate. :-p Thus, the name Andrew Giles. It has a nice ring to it. At least I think so. XD His character is actually half based off --you guessed it-- Mokuba and half off both Gillette and Groves, Norrington's Second Lieutenant. Norrington's two lieutenants (in fanfics, anyways) are sarcastic, humorous, and often bicker between each other to make the two funniest British officers I've ever seen.... besides Murtogg and Mulroy, the two hilarious, rather dim-witted Marines that tried, many times, to capture Jack Sparrow and usually just ended up getting in everyone's way.


	4. Ghosts

* * *

I apologize PROFUSELY for being so late. (School is _killing_ me; would you believe me if I was getting C's and D's? Oo I'm usually an A student, I swear!) Dreamcatcher is inching along, I'm sorry to report. I haven't given up hope yet, don't worry, but I honestly don't have a good guess as to when the next chapter will be up (I'm having SUCH a hard time making it interesting .) Anyhow, this chapter is kinda boring in my mind. ;; They don't do anything but... sit there and talk. (runs away) Okay, fine, sit there, talk and _blush_. Hope that clears things up. :-p 

First off, a note that's been bugging me for more than a month; I GOT THE WRONG MOONLIGHT SONATA. I've had this old, really simple but beautiful piano piece labeled as "Moonlight Sonata", but I now highly doubt the title of the piece is right since the CD was burned and the guy knew nothing about classical music. ;; I apologize sincerely to everyone that noticed this; there's an embarrassingly high number of you. Again, I'm very very sorry! Silly mistake, I know!

Next, a whole lot of thank you's: to my wonderful beta Moonlitspire (who actually have to put up with the unedited version of this chapter --Soraki, I'm sorry I didn't get to use you this time... ), to my savior Emmy who painstakingly took the time to translate the English to French phrases cuz I'm failing French and is very afraid to attempt to do so myself, to Nenya for thinking up the name 'Walker' when I was desperately scanning history textbooks for some 1700's British names, to my email/Pharaoh Palace buddies who dropped by lots of helpful hints to help move this story along (it would take up waaaay too much space to name them all) and of course, to all you wonderful fans for all your lovely reviews. I LOVE YOU ALL! (big teary hug) Thanks for sticking by me for so long!

* * *

... translated French 

"..." English (occasionally w/ un-translated words from other languages)

/.../ translated ancient Egyptian

'...' private thoughts

_italics_ words/terms/pronunciations NOT in the language being currently spoken or in the English narration

**bold** song lyrics

**1 2 3...** footnotes

AN author's note

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: Ghosts**

* * *

Seto couldn't sleep. Being so far from both his ships and England, he felt distinctly homesick, aching inside in more than one way. It didn't help that he was an extraordinarily light sleeper; years of naval duty and unexpected surprises resulted in him usually sleeping with a pistol under his pillow and his sword within reaching distant. The slightest disturbance usually jolted him awake, a nasty habit that usually took its toll on his health when they were sailing through bustling cities or pirate-infested waters. Andrew, who could sleep like the living dead, usually took great delight in poking fun at his commanding officer, resulting in a few wicked midnight tricks that Seto did not care to relive. 

Sighing, the Commodore tossed about a bit, his nightshirt scratching uncomfortably against his skin. He looked up at the sheer canopy of his large bed, feeling a bit claustrophobic surrounded by all these pillows and blankets. Most sailors and marines slept in tiny cabins with extremely simple cots, this type of bed was far too soft and big to be comfortable for anyone used to the military way of life. It didn't help matters that the room was overly plush in the first place, the carpet made of rich red velvet and every piece of furniture made of oak so old it could have grown in Seto's great-grandfather's days. As posh and glamorous as the room was, Seto found it stifling and entirely too decorated for its own good.

A breeze from the open window rippled through the room, blowing about the heavy curtains and sending the hanging canopy sheets tumbling into Seto's face. Growling irritably, the Commodore sat up in bed and kicked off his covers, fighting to free himself from the confining silk. Confound it, he wasn't going to lie around anymore like a dead duck. What he was now going to do, he hadn't the slightest idea, but he was sure it was going to be better than being suffocated by frilly French blankets. Shivering in his thin nightshirt, he scooted off the bed and pulled on his socks and breeches, hunting around a bit for his shoes before finding them under the bed. Slipping his feet into them, he picked up his wig from the table and skillfully fitted it on his head, only stopping briefly to tuck his dark locks under the edges. His hat, along with his open vest and jacket, awaited him on a chair nearby, having been carefully placed there before he got in bed. Seto noted with amusement that, with the simple addition of a wig, the chair could have easily passed off as him.

A soft sound came through his window and momentarily startled him. It was distant and quiet, but hauntingly beautiful. It sounded almost like... well... _humming_.

Curious as to who would be _singing_ at this bloody hour, Seto made his way over to the window as he was buttoning his pale vest. The night was still was dark and clear, the moon and the stars twinkling high above him. A few crickets still chirped again somewhere down below. The trees that managed to reach Seto's window swayed gently to a calm breeze, the refreshing chillingly hanging in the silence of the air.

Straining his senses but seeing nothing, the Commodore shrugged to himself, slapping irritably at the curtain that continuously whacked his face.

He needed to get out of this bloody room.

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, Seto slid quietly out of the palace, pausing just outside a back entrance to breathe in the sweet night air. Having opted to leave his heavy jacket and his hat back in his room, the officer was dressed almost entirely in white, the proud gold embroidering of his long vest flashing in the silver moonlight. He almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the night. 

Laden with the intoxicating smell of roses and other flowers, a cool breeze blew past him, bringing, again, the soft, singing voice in the distance.

Like a pale ghost among the dark shadows of the trees, Seto moved fluidly and leisurely toward the sound, taking in the occasional fountains and the old mass of blossoming vines that steadily crept up the sides of the palace. His wanderings took him deep into the maze of courtyards, alongside the old worn walls of increasingly old sections of the palace. At night, the lovely flowers and trees in these gardens were no longer welcoming, their shadows dark and foreboding, their vines and rough bark reaching out as if to snag a stray limb. Seto, however, walked on without fear, meandering silently and gracefully through the dead silence of the dark night, following the sweet song of the crickets and the occasional beam of silvery moonlight that lit his path.

For a long time, he walked alone through the fragrant smell of night-blooming flowers, his only companion a hooting owl somewhere in the trees. Feeling a sudden twinge of déjà vu, the Commodore stopped and looked about with flashing blue eyes. The tall trees from around the main palace had been replaced by tall hedges and hanging vines of ivy; the lilies and the tulips had been replaced by fiery roses, the same ones that Seto had made a comment about earlier in the day.

He was back at the Prince's courtyard.

Somehow, this didn't surprise Seto one bit.

Quietly, ever so smoothly, he glided through the marble pathways, brushing vines aside without so much of a blink. He walked deep into the protective lines of hedges, deeper than he had done so in the day, deeper toward the heart of the courtyard.

Eventually, distant at first, the sound of trickling, bubbling water reached his ears, accompanied by a clear, melodious tenor voice raised in a mournful song, the swaying and passionate melody drifting through the trees. The words, though now close and very clear, were unlike anything Seto had ever heard; they were not Latin-based in the least, nor remotely Asian.

Frowning, he stopped under an archway, peeking curiously into what he assumed to be the center of the Prince's courtyard. Silvery moonlight flooded the place, lighting up a small and cozy clearing in the shape of a circle, the ground covered with tiles of marble and scattered flower petals. A few ancient willows surrounded the circle, their huge branches reaching crookedly toward the sky, crying rivers upon rivers of long, dangling vines that rippled to every breeze. In their protective shadows was a small fountain in the middle of courtyard, filled with floating lily pads and magnificent, blooming lotuses the color of virgin snow. In the mist of the large blossoms was an odd assembly of stones of all colors and sizes, each piled upon each other like a miniature pyramid. From this pyramid spouted a gushing cascade of water, liquid shooting upward to form a graceful arc before cascading downward to form mini rivers along the side of the pyramid.

Seto's eyes widened ever so slightly.

Crown Prince Yami sat on the edge of the strange little fountain, illuminated by a flood of moonlight and glowing ethereally from the sparkling reflection of said light off the waters behind him. The boy was not wearing the French-style clothing as before, a fact that made up for much of Seto's utter bewilderment. Instead, he wore something entirely unfamiliar to this continent alone. Draped over his lithe frame was a long, flowing robe of near-sheer white, tied at the waist by a gold belt from which hung a long, slender flap of gold silk. Around his near-bare shoulders, the prince wore a gold collar plate of some kind, shaped distinctly like a bird of prey. On his lovely head, the boy wore a large pair of dangling gold earrings, made in a shape of which Seto was not quite familiar with. On closer inspection, there were dark streaks along the edges of the boy's beautiful eyes, accenting their exquisite color and shape in a strangely erotic way.

The attire was almost scandalous.

_Almost_.

Seto didn't dislike it one bit. It didn't leave much to the imagination, and bloody hell, he liked what he saw. But you'd have to gut him through to make him admit that.

Captivated, the Commodore could only watch as Prince swayed in the night breeze, in tune with a beat that only he could hear. The boy's eyes were closed blissfully as he sang that foreign melody, his voice an intoxicating, charming tenor that gushed passionately like the sweetest honey. His slender fingers curled around something hanging off his neck, Yami stroked this hidden object fondly as he sang, as if it was more precious than his weight in diamonds. His strange song continued to pour effortlessly from his lips, soothing and enchanting, floating through the air like a song of angels.

Eventually, as he drew close to the end of the song, Yami's voice trailed off to a choked whisper, his eyes fluttering open as if awakening from deep sleep. There was a hint of unshed tears in those swirling crimson eyes as he looked down upon the odd-shaped gold piece in his hand, one finger absent-mindedly trailing the etched Eye of Ra.

"You sing wonderfully."

Startled, Yami jumped, looking up quickly. His eyes widened when he saw a large white figure stepping out of the shadows by the courtyard entrance. "C-Commodore!"

"A late night greeting, your highness," greeted the tall officer, bowing deeply. Easily covering the distance separately them with a few long strides, he reached out and brought one of Yami's limp hands to his lips, kissing it tenderly. Seeing Yami's stare, the Commodore released the boy's hand and cocked his head. "Are you not supposed to be in bed, your majesty?" he teased gently.

Yami sputtered, heat creeping up his cheeks. "I should ask the same of you!" he snapped indignantly, eyes darting about, "You gave me a fright!"

"I apologize," answered Seto smoothly, brilliant eyes twinkling. "I could not sleep, so I decided to... explore."

Yami met his eyes, blushing a little. "And do your little explorations _always_ run into me?"

At this, Seto smirked that all-knowing smirk of his. "Perhaps."

His word hung heavily in the air. In an instant, awkward, stifling silence settled between them. The Commodore made no move to come any closer, and Yami made no move period. He seemed surprised, at least, by the Commodore's appearance, as well as a bit unnerved. Panic in his eyes, the Prince searched around and behind Seto for some imaginary intruder, gaze scanning and intense. Seto watched this odd movement carefully, storing it in the back of his mind.

Finally, Yami lowered his chin, eyes flashing with uncertainly. He spoke nervously, hesitantly, avoiding the taller man's piercing gaze. "Commodore, I must ask you a favor... _Please_ do not speak of this to anyone." He raised his gaze, scarlet eyes pleading, "I do not have permission to be here."

"I see," Seto murmured slowly, working this new piece of information in his mind. He had guessed it already, judging by the Prince's reaction to his entrance; after all, how often do high-bred royals wander about freely in the dead of night? He answered smoothly and without hesitation, "You needn't worry, dear Prince. I have no intention of turning you in and I had none to begin with." Watching Yami relax visibly, the Englishman continued, amused, "Besides, I highly doubt an English Commodore has any business wondering about the intentions of free-wandering French Princes."

Yami's stiffened posture melted with relief, his eyes sparkling. "Many thanks, Commodore..." he said, smiling shyly and gratefully, "My father would not appreciate me wandering out here alone..." Almost as an afterthought, he patted the space beside him as a welcome. "Come, Commodore. Join me." He flashed a brilliant smile in the man's direction, one that Seto could hardly ignore.

The Commodore cocked his head the other way, eyes flashing with surprise at the invitation. After a brief moment's hesitation, he silently maneuvered over and sat stiffly a good distance away from the boy, eyeing the prince uneasily. Yami felt butterflies dance in his stomach. Perhaps the Commodore did not wish to be here... or worse, perhaps it had been wrong to invite him. Was there some formal code of etiquette that they had just broken? The boy shifted restlessly, unnerved by the officer's deathly silence.

Seto was the first to speak. "That was a lovely song you were singing, your highness," he started somewhat awkwardly, keeping his voice neutral. "I am not familiar with it."

Yami blinked, then looked away. "I-It was a lullaby my mother used to sing to me to get me to sleep." He looked up thoughtfully, elegant profile accented by the moonlight. Quiet for a moment, he suddenly pointed upward with a slender arm, toward the mass of twinkling stars above. "Back in Egypt, we often slept outside when the stars were out. My mother would hold me and tell me some stories, then let me drift to sleep while she sang." Lowering his arm, the boy looked down sadly at his lap, trembling. "She's dead now, from what I heard... She's been dead for years. But every now and then I get this awful longing to hear her voice, to look at the stars and imagine that I was back home, falling asleep with her song in my ears."

Seto watched him silently, then looked away. "My sympathies... Your mother must have been a wonderful woman," he stated dryly.

"She was..." agreed Yami quietly, distant and lost in thought.

An awkward, mournful silence settled between them, filled with the rhythmic trickling of the fountain water and the occasional cricket chirp.

Then it was Yami's turn to speak. "What about your own mother, Commodore?" He looked curiously at Seto. "Surely you have a wonderful family back in England?"

Seto startled the boy with a short, bitter bark of a laugh. "...Not particularly," he replied quietly, his voice heavy.

Yami was surprised, to say the least. _Surely_ the British royal family had used all their love and resources to raise such a magnificent man!

Sensing the Prince's curiosity, Seto continued, though awkwardly. "Aye, I have family... The King, the Queen, their daughters, a few extended relatives... but I rarely see any of them." Before Yami could ask why, he continued hurriedly, heart heavy, "I was born the only son of the eldest princess of three, Victoria."

"What is she like?" asked Yami, curling up now, inquisitive.

Seto hesitated, never once raising his eyes from where they focused solely on his shoes. "Blue eyes, dark hair, tall... They say she was quite independent, out-spoken even." He laughed bitterly, "But I wouldn't know. She died when I was very young."

Startled, Yami looked at him with wide eyes full of pity and sorrow. "...I'm sorry to hear that," he whispered.

Seto glanced up, sending him a dry smile, "Do not be, your highness. I can hardly recall her face, let alone her voice."

Yami looked away, hugging his knees to himself lightly. "What about your father?" he asked quietly.

Here, Seto's voice turned steely and he went back to staring at his shoes. "Christian Walker, a merchant sailor, the only son of some sea-faring family up north. Green eyes, blond hair, tall and strong, they say. But he was killed a few months before I was born; pirates attacked his ship while he was sailing for the colonies." Despite spitting out the word 'pirates' like a curse, the Commodore gave a casual shrug. "I never met him." **1 2**

Yami flinched visibly. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have asked--"

"Quite alright, your highness," Seto leaned back, sighing deeply, "There was no harm done in asking."

Yami looked away, a bit ashamed. "So... So you're an orphan then?" he asked quietly.

There was the slightest twitch in Seto's left eye at the mention of that word. "Yes, I suppose so." His voice was soft.

"Then pray tell, what about your aunts? The King and Queen? They run a marvelous country, do they not?" asked Yami quickly, in an effort to slowly stir the topic away from anymore painful memories.

Seto raised an eyebrow. "I care very little for their governing of England. My grandmother did not approve of my mother's 'carefree' ways, nor of her choice in a low-born husband," One could almost hear the seething rage deep inside Seto's tight voice, "She stripped my mother of her title and exiled her from the main palace, pretending she never existed. My mother lived the rest of life --later on with me-- in one of the smaller costal castles. I never saw my grandparents in my youth, and now only see them very rarely. As for my aunts, Sophia was the only one that cared and took the time to visit me. My other aunt, Beatrice, never so much knew I existed."

Yami winced and said nothing, horrified at where this conversation was quickly turning. Ra, how could this marvelous, beautiful man have had such a terrible life? How could he have coped with all of it? The Prince's heart swelled with sympathy and admiration. Oh, he wanted to comfort the man, to kiss those pretty blue eyes, to massage those strong shoulders... Alas, he could not. Still, he was dreadfully close to shedding tears for the Commodore's pain. Both of them were in the same boat, chained by the tattered remains of their dark, torn pasts, forgotten by their families, their mothers long gone. The thought that they both bore this terrible burden suddenly made the weight a whole lot easier to bear.

Smiling a little, eyes tender, Yami touched Seto's arm gently, feeling the strong muscles tense under his fingers. The Commodore turned to look at Yami, then at the boy's hand, then back at Yami, brow furrowing in confusion.

Yami gave him a tiny, sincere smile. "You and I are not so different, Commodore..." he whispered.

Seto blinked. The edge of his lips twitched upward faintly. "No... I suppose we aren't," he answered quietly. It was strangely comforting, hearing the Prince say those words and feeling that small, warm hand on his arm. It seemed that Yami, too, shared his pain. And what a terrible pain it was...

Though he barely remembered her, there was little Seto wouldn't give to at least see his mother's face again, just once more. Would she have lavished him with love when he was a child, and spoiled him with sweets and toys? Would she be proud of him now, sailing on the open sea, proud officer of the British Royal Navy? Would she have tweaked his new hat at his promotion ceremony and planted a kiss on his cheek in front of the adoring audience? Seto knew it was foolish to dream this way, of course. After all, he would never admit this irrational longing. Still, it seemed that once again, the little Egyptian-born Prince had seen right through him, and better yet, didn't scold or laugh at him for such silly dreams.

"You are not like your people, your highness..." the Commodore murmured quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Yami looked at him in surprise, withdrawing his hand with no small amount of embarrassment. "Why... Why do you say that, Commodore?"

Seto turned his head a little to look at him for a long time, silent. "In many ways, I suppose. You're much wiser than any Prince I've ever met. And of course, you are extremely different in your looks, your beliefs, your..." he raised an eyebrow, "...choice of clothing..."

Yami blushed, looking down. "I'm flattered, Commodore..." He poked shyly at himself, "This is one of the few Egyptian attires I still have, a little something from my homeland. Still..." he trailed off, a little sad, " Father thinks that everything I am and do is treasonous."

Seto perked up at this, frowning. "May I ask why?"

Yami shrugged, as if it was nothing. "Since I came here, he's been trying his hardest to convert me to the European ways... Into a "proper" royal. So he dresses me like in brocade, teaches me proper etiquette, tries to make me believe his God, and tries to make me forget all the "heathen" ways I carried over from Egypt." His slender shoulders trembled, his voice tight. "B-But I refused. I find France too... stifling, the clothing too itchy, the society too stiff, the religion odd and too... _formal_ for me. So I still worship the old gods, wear my own clothing and speak my native language, despite the fact that my father has forbade all three acts." He heaved a sigh, voice small. "He's never forgiven me for disobeying him."

Seto arched his eyebrows toward the heaven. Comprehension dawned upon him; so THAT was why the King was so cruel to the poor boy! Of course! "Heathen" ways were, without exception, not tolerated in European society, especially among royalty. He himself would know. But did the boy not realize that these words were treason? Treason against the state, the King, and even the Church! Any lesser man would have been beheaded or stoned to death, at least!

As if he just realized that, Yami flinched and looked up shyly, looking much like a puppy that had been whacked on the nose. "Will you speak of this to anyone, Commodore?" he whispered fearfully, eyes wide.

Seto was horrified to find himself melting under that sorrowful expression. "Of course not," he found himself saying, much too quickly.

Yami flashed him a sweet smile more brilliant than the sun, but it was soon replaced by a quick frown. His voice shrank. "Have I offended you, Commodore?" he asked gently.

Seto considered this for a moment, surprised to find himself not so much in a fit but actually _admiring_ the boy for admitting such thoughts, as outrageous as they were. "No, not at all," he murmured, thoughtfully, "I suppose I can relate a bit to your... odd habits." The words felt odd on his tongue, every wire in his brain started screaming at him to stop. Still, he continued on, growing curiously more excited with every word, "I never did go to Church on Sundays; I never saw the point. Ah, and I haven't read a Bible in years." **3**

Yami raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Good sir, _you_ aren't religious?" His eyes grew ridiculously wide. To think! An English Commodore of the Royal British Navy who doesn't go to Church!

Seto flinched, suddenly horrified to find that such terrible words had slipped out of own his mouth. 'TREASON!' his mind screamed in bloody murder, 'TREASON!' This went against everything he had ever learned and every belief he held! Shaking his head, Seto cursed his momentary lapse of control. "Yes, but I swear, that is the _only_ odd thing about me," he said quickly, mentally slapping himself. He'd be lucky if _he_ wasn't beheaded!

Yami laughed, teasingly. "You can tell me, Commodore. I won't tell..."

Seto sent him a withering look, flustered. "No, I really shouldn't..."

Yami curled up beside him, inching a little closer than what Seto felt was a comfortable distance. "No, truly," the Prince encouraged, delighted that the stiff officer had a more personal side, "What other odd habits do you have?"

Seto glared at him stubbornly, eyes flashing. "No, truly, I have said enough. In fact, I have stepped out of my place." He shook his head, inching away uneasily to put some distance between the Prince and himself. "This is not... er... _proper_, your highness."

Yami grinned. "I _order_ you to tell me."

Seto opened his mouth to protest, then diverted his gaze and sighed. "Fine." Without enthusiasm, he pointed to his stiff, half-heeled shoes. "I hate these bloody shoes," he muttered, embarrassed beyond reason.

Yami stared at him for a long moment, then threw his head back and laughed. "Is that all? Oh, I certainly imagine you do, Commodore," he giggled, "They are such _dreadful_ things." He pointed to his own feet, which Seto now saw were totally bare. "I prefer sandals, but bare feet work just as well."

Making a face, Seto looked horrified at the mere thought. "That's positively barbaric!" Shoeless! Who can imagine!

Yami looked a little hurt. "Father dislikes the habit as well," he whispered a bit sadly, the mere sound of that honeyed voice making guilt stir deep in the pit of Seto's stomach.

The Commodore smoothed his features. "I apologize, your majesty. I forget my place..." he mumbled awkwardly, "I meant no offense."

Yami gave him a pained smile. "I am odd in countless ways, I know..." he sighed. He pointed to his head suddenly, grinning, "But at least I'm not the one in tights and those bloody wigs."

_This_ made Seto gasp. "What about my wig?" he demanded, fiddling with the rolled hair on the sides of his ears. This wig was new, powdered white and _expensive_, not to mention only Commodores could wear this certain type. "They're _required_ for the British Navy. Every well-off man needs one outside his house, after all, and it's terribly rude not to have one. Besides," he sniffled, "it's a indication of status."

Yami looked baffled. "But you _do_ have hair under there, right?" he asked, making an odd face.

Stiffening, Seto scowled a little. "Of course I do."

"Show me."

Seto stared. Had he heard right?

Yami raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, pouting a little. "There's no one around, Commodore," he teased, raising his right hand, "I swear an oath of silence." It was quite amusing to see the unflappable naval officer sudden so flabbergasted.

Seto sputtered, caught completely off guard. "But your highness, it's... it's against protocol...!" Taking off his wig in front of someone? He's never done such a thing since he was old enough to _wear_ wigs!

Yami's lips thinned a little. "I _order_ you, Commodore, to show me your hair." He sounded far too eager.

Seto sputtered some more, then silenced himself and finally hung his head. His superiors would have his head for this, he knew. Heaving another heavy sigh, he reached up and slowly, gingerly pulled his wig off his hair. A few dark locks fell into his eyes and he eyed them with a frown, making a mental note to see a barber. Irritably blowing at those blasted bangs, the Commodore glanced at Yami sourly, clearly displeased. **4**

He was utterly surprised by the expression on the boy's face. It was something along the lines of admiration, awe and shock. Baffled, Seto frowned, a bit uneasy at the sheer intensity of that smoldering gaze.

The sudden silence could be cut by a knife.

Then, quietly, the Prince whispered, "...Is it as soft as it looks?" Not even waiting for an answer, he reached out with a quivering hand, eyes dazed and childishly wide.

As still as stone and hardly breathing, the Commodore eyed those slender fingers with puzzlement and open suspicion. His heart raced as he watched those elegant digits inch every closer, the Prince almost leaning on his shoulder to reach over.

A visible tremor ran through them both when Yami's hand hesitantly brushed Seto's forehead, running gently across the smooth skin and through those thick, chocolate bangs. Fascinated, the Prince marveled at the silkiness of the hair, his fingers easily slipping through long, silken locks. The strands felt like the gentlest of water.

"Why do you keep it hidden?" Yami whispered finally, not really expecting an answer.

This question seemed to jolt a stunned Seto back into life, and very quickly, he stood, smoothing his hair and rather hurriedly stuffing his wig back on. The back of his neck was an interesting tint of pink. "It keep it hidden because it is against _protocol_, your highness," Seto muttered icily, inwardly shaken by the intimate moment. He shuddered to himself. Lord, how could he have let himself into such an... an _improper_ action?

Yami watched the Commodore stiffen and bit his lip, retracting his hand from where it still caressed thin air. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, flushing himself, "I didn't--"

"I wish to retire now, your highness," said Seto suddenly and pointedly, looking back at Yami briefly, frowning. He nodded curtly. "Enjoy the rest of the night."

Hurt, Yami looked away, saying nothing.

His frown deepening, Seto moved quickly to the courtyard entrance, mind whirling in directions he wasn't sure he'd like it to go.

"Will you not say goodnight, Commodore?" came a soft, distinct voice behind him.

Seto stopped briefly, then turned to look over his shoulder, blue eyes flashing from under the stark white of his wig. He managed a tight smile. "Good night, my Prince."

* * *

Seto awoke early, restless. He had slept poorly during the night, his thoughts haunted by a certain red-eyed Prince and some age-old memories of his past that he dared not remember. On top of it all, his yearning for the open sea had not quelled during the night, much to his dismay. If anything, it had amplified and was now driving him antsy. All through dawn --in which he had attempted to watch the sun rise and had realized quite quickly that the blasted trees outside his window were blocking the way-- he had paced agitatedly through every inch of his room, now having memorized every detail of that blasted, low-slung chandelier he kept running into. The morning meal was still an hour away, and the only people in the hall were a few early-rising musketeers and some servants scrambling about to complete their duties. Hopefully, most of Seto's men were already awake, as early-rising as their commanding officer. However, though missing their company terribly, Seto feared to go in search of any of his men's rooms; knowing his luck, he'd end up walking in on some plump old lady half-naked and still dressing. 

Suddenly, there was a quick rap on his door. Ready to kiss whomever had come to relieve him of his boredom, Seto flung open the door and was greeted with an odd sight. Many of his men, Andrew and Edward among them, stood huddled against his doorway like a group of lost children. All of them were pale and messily dressed.

"A message for you, sir, from England. It's been following us for days," stated Andrew, strangely solemn. He handed Seto a note.

Frowning, Seto took it, scanning it over. He paled visibly, then crumbled the sheet in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he looked up, blue eyes hard. His voice was soft and deadly. "Does the Queen know of this?"

* * *

"My father!" Sophia cried, near hysterical, "Oh, my darling father!" 

The flabbergasted King could only try to comfort her as she bawled into his sleeves. "_Quand avez-vous reçu des nouvelles de ceci_?" he demanded. ( When did you receive news of this? )

Seto was expressionless. "_La nuit dernière, Seigneur. Un messager de nuit l'a apporté ici de la côte_." ( Last night, sire. An overnight messenger brought it here from the coast. )

"_Qu'elle est sa condition_?" ( What is his condition? )

"_Une maladie de l'esprit, mon Seigneur. Il l'a attrappé rapidement voilà une semaine. Les physiciens disent qu'il ne lui reste qu'une douzaine de jour à vivre._" ( An illness of the mind, sire. He contracted it quickly a week ago. The physicians say he will not have more than a dozen days to live. )

Sophia cried harder. The King whispered some comforting words to her, thoroughly bewildered. Seto stood in front of their thrones, head bowed, backed by his men. He remained silent and apathetic.

"Please! Please, my love, I must go see him!" pleaded Sophia, her voice broken with sobs, her words a nendless babble of fast, rapid English.

The King hesitated, looking torn. "_Peut-être si je demande pour plus de marins--_" ( Perhaps if I call for some sailors-- )

"_Mon Seigneur, si je peux me permettre de parler_..." broke in Seto gently, eyes fixed on Sophia's shaking, weeping form, "_J'escorterai avec plaisir sa Majesté de nouveau en l'Angleterre_." ( Sire, if I may speak... I will gladly escort Her Majesty back to England. )

The King looked at him, both grateful and suspicious at the suggestion.

Seto went on, seeing that Sophia had stopped crying enough to hear him, "_Mes bateaux sont équipés et préparent, mon Seigneur, et j'ose dire qu'ils composent une flotte puissante_." ( My ships are manned and ready, sire, and I daresay they make up a mighty fleet. )

The King still hesitated. "_Peut-être une escorte française_..." he started tentatively. ( Perhaps a French escort... )

"_Mon Seigneur, je ne crois pas que nous avons le temps pour cet arrangement_," said Seto quietly. ( Sire, I do not believe we have time for that arrangement. )

Silence.

Biting his lip, the King looked at Seto's men, then at Seto himself. He patted Sophia's golden head. "_Vous êtes un membre de sa famille, je vous confie ainsi avec sa santé. Je vous en pris, prenez soin de prise d'elle_...?" he asked, genuinely concerned. ( You are her kinsmen, so thus I entrust you with her health. _Please_ take care of her...? )

Very briefly, Seto's lips twitched upward. "_Comme vous le voulez, votre Majesté_." ( Will do, your majesty. )

* * *

Try as he might, Seto could not suppress a tremor of excitement as he and his men filed out of the Throne room, curious French men and women parting before them like the Red Sea. As terrible as the situation was, the Commodore was thrilled at the notion of returning to his ships and the sea long before schedule. For an instant, it seemed like a choir of angels sang down upon him from above. 

Then, quite suddenly, the angels fell silent.

Offhandedly, Seto noted that all the French had fallen into bows. He didn't notice the reason for the action until he practically ran straight into it. Dressed in a simple red-gold robe and followed by two neat rows of musketeers, Yami stood before him, fair face solemn, crimson eyes flashing. Startled by this untimely appearance of the Prince and his entourage of cavaliers, Mahado included, Seto stopped dead in his tracks, barely a dozen meters out the Throne Room.

Heart suddenly very heavy, Seto bowed deeply with the rest of his men. He noted faintly that the Prince did not allow him to kiss his hand, even hiding both hands behind his robes when Seto look a small step forward to do so.

Flinching, Seto stood, his example followed obediently by his men. "Your highness..." he greeted stiffly, bowing his head and reaching up to dip his hat.

Yami's eyes were sad, not rising from their blank stare on the Commodore's chest. "Is it true?" the boy demanded quietly.

"What is true, your highness?" asked Seto gently.

Now those lovely, wine-red eyes rose to meet his gaze, filled with misery and sorrow. "That you're leaving so soon, Commodore? After just a day here?" There was no accusation in the boy's honeyed voice, just a bit of pleading.

Seto felt a distinct aching inside he couldn't quite place. He swallowed what felt like a lump of lead in his throat. "I'm afraid so, my Prince."

There was deadened silence between them, their gazes holding for what seemed like an immeasurable amount of time.

Then, finally, heart wrenching with grief, Yami looked away, turning to leave. He took a few steps and then paused, briefly turning to look over his shoulder. His voice was soft and sad. "Then I wish you a safe journey, Commodore."

* * *

AN: AAARRRGG! THIS BLOODY CHAPTER WAS SO HARD TO WRITE! I honestly hope I didn't bore everyone out of their minds. SIGH I personally like Chapter 3 better, being that this one was all talk and pointless babble. Xp I swear, the next chapter will be more interesting; Yami gets to find out about Seto's ships and his odd obsession with dragons. :-p And yeah, they set sail. I think. I'm not sure if they're going to get together (FINALLY) in the next chapter, but hopefully they will. PRAY:-p A major thanks to everyone at Pharaoh's Palace and my email buddies who helped me with this blasted, god-forsaken mess of a chapter.

* * *

**1** - Okay okay, I don't know squat about old British names. I was so desperate I was actually looking through my American History textbook for some names from back in the Revolution. I did what sounded best with "Christian" (which is my favorite guy name and --rumored-- to be some nickname or something of Seto's in the Duelist of Roses :-D) and that strangely turned out to be Walker. (Special thanks to Nenya who helped me with the names; imagine how terrible it would have been if I named Seto after some of the Founding Fathers... -wince-) Heh, notice that so far I've never had anyone call Seto by his full title: with the French/Yami/Mahado, it was always just "Commodore" and with the crew, it was usually "sir". However, in the following chapters, pirates and other naval officers will repeatedly have to call Seto by _something_ formal, and as odd as Commodore Walker might think, we're all stuck with it. 

**2** - "Colonies" is a term I use loosely to refer to the then-British colonies of America, before the Revolution.

**3** - England, I'm pretty sure, was Anglican for a while (I remember this cuz of Queen Elizabeth sweatdrop) I have absolutely no idea what England was at/before the time of the Revolution, but hopefully it involves the Bible and Christianity. (I seriously do not mean to offend anyone when I use the word "heathen"; its just that, in such a strict society such as England and France in this story, everything Yami does is totally "wacko" and against the "rules", which obviously bewildered the heck out of Seto whose so used to following these "rules" through his whole life)

**4 **- I know it's a weird picture, but obviously Seto's hair would have to be pulled back to fit under the wig. That means his bangs are probably a little longer and the hair at the back might be a longer so they could fit into a tiny little ponytail. REALLY weird image, I know!


	5. All Hands On Deck

Yeeeeah uh, this chapter's been done and betaed for a month, and I totally forgot it was here. -sheepish grin- Soooo, since frantically writing for the Pharaoh's Palace's round robin actually sparked my lagging interest in writing again, here is LCDLM ch. 5... a bit too late!

Wow, yeah, I'm soooooo out of it. WAY too much work. -sob- Anyhow, I apologize if this story is very bland so far. I tried to write something interesting, but it didn't work. My writing skills have gone down the drain lately. TT I wish I could have done a better job on this chapter, but this is as good as its going to get while I'm strangled by schoolwork and totally lacking in sleep. (You know, its really amazing how much you can get done at two in the morning. -wince-)

And as always, thank you all for the wonderful reviews. I'm too tired right now to reply to individual reviewers, but I'm happy people find this fic relatively amusing. And yes, I do make an attempt to make their dialogue seem (kinda) in character/in the time period; I'm very VERY happy people appreciate that. :-p You guys always make my day. Thank you so much for the support! And thanks to my beta's Soraki and Moonlitspire. I LUV U GUYS! (I didn't use some of ur suggestions cuz I thought it might change my style… Please don't mind!)

Anyhow, if you guys won't hate me for boring you out of your minds again, I present to you this odd chapter I half wrote on a day I was supposed to be studying for three friggin' tests. (I have the urge to write at the worst of times, don't I? This is why I'm doing crappy in school. Oh, well... -sigh-) And keeps screwing up my updates. What is UP with taking away all the symbols I like to use, huh?! HUH?! TT

And oh yeah, a VERY late happy b-day to our fave blue-eyed CEO. HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, SETO DAHLING!! -smooch- -glomp- XD

&&&&&&  
(...) translated French

"..." English (occasionally w/ un-translated words from other languages)

/.../ translated ancient Egyptian

'...' private thoughts

_italics_ words/terms/pronunciations NOT in the language being currently spoken or in the English narration

**bold** song lyrics

footnotes

AN author's note

&&&&&

&&&&&&&&&&

CHAPTER FIVE: All Hands On Deck

&&&&&&&&&&

"Your majesty...?"

Surrounded by maids fussing over her, Sophie stopped her pacing to search for the source of the voice. She smiled tiredly when she saw Yami's fair face peering through the crack of the semi-open doors. "Come in, child."

Tentatively, Yami stepped into the chamber, followed by the ever-present Mahado, who quickly fell into a deep bow by the doorway. After a moment of brief hesitation, the Prince swept across the floor to the Queen, bowing to kiss her hand graciously.

Sophia's blue eyes, though slightly swollen from crying, were warm and affectionate as she gently pulled the boy up by his shoulders. "What is it, love?" she asked softly as he stood.

Yami shifted awkwardly but gave her a sweet smile. "I came to wish you a good trip, milady."

Sophia smiled wearily and gave him a loving kiss on the cheek. She soothed his wild hair affectionately, patting his cheeks. "You are too kind, little one."

Yami beamed briefly under her affection, then quickly deflated. He squirmed a bit, looking away shyly, mouth half open as if to speak.

Sophia noticed this instantly and frowned. "Gracious, child, what bothers you so?"

Yami flushed a little, squirming some more. "Well, I-I was wondering if... if you'd tell me more about what England was like..." He blushed darker, adding quickly, "You, know, after your trip, I mean... After all, its simply _dreadful_ that your father's ill and.. well..." he trailed off in embarrassment.

Sophia raised a delicate eyebrow.

Oh, how she had forgotten! When she first arrived in France, she had been startled to find a certainly ruby-eyed little Prince all over her, filled with interest and demanding to know all she knew. The boy had been particularly interested in her travels, soaking up all her nostalgic tales of England like a sponge. Sophia, of course, delighted in feeding that ravenous curiosity, but was absolutely horrified to hear that the boy was forbidden from leaving the palace. She had pleaded constantly with her husband to let the poor Prince out, but to no avail.

Suddenly, it was as if the heavens had sent down a message written out in lightening across the sky. Almost squealing as a brilliant idea hit her, Sophia's tear-stained face abruptly broke out in a massive grin.

Yami eyed the Queen oddly, brow furrowing in bafflement at her sudden change of mood.

Ignoring that look, Sophia clapped her hands in a brief spell of exultation. "Oh, come, darling!" she cried suddenly, sweeping past a thoroughly confused Mahado and out of the room. "Quickly now! I must speak with your father!"

&&&&&&&&&&

Having been stationed at the front gates for the better part of the morning, Seto had been overlooking the loading of the carriages when the news came to him; the Prince would be coming with them to England. Honest to God, Seto couldn't recall _what_ his reaction had been then. Andrew, on the other hand, eagerly reported that the Commodore had gone ashen white.

In any case, Seto now found himself pacing like a madman before the gate, dreading the moment that Sophia would appear with Yami --and no doubt Mahado-- in tow. Seto wasn't sure if spending days on end with the Prince was a blessing, a curse, or at least a very sick cosmic joke. Sighing, the officer stopped briefly to rub his temple, his head throbbing mercilessly with a painful headache. Ah yes, and he couldn't forget Mahado. Now life with _him_ was bound to be interesting, at the very least. Seto chuckled bitterly to himself. He had no doubt that the urge to toss the musketeer overboard will become _very_ tempting when they were out at sea.

Thankfully, Sophia had made it very clear that she did not want any "burdensome" escorts besides Seto and his men. That meant no maids, no musketeers and certainly no French guards. Unfortunately, Seto was sure that it would take more than even a Queen's command to separate Mahado from his young charge; more often than not, it seemed that the Prince and his musketeer were joined at the hip.

"Goodness gracious, will you stop that dreadful pacing? You're giving _me_ a headache."

Seto looked up to see Andrew leaning out the carriage window, looking positively bored. The Commodore sent his friend a dark glare.

Andrew rolled his eyes, completely immune to the look. "You shouldn't be so goddamn fussy. It'll only be a few days."

"The longest days of my life, no doubt," Seto murmured with a frown, dread in his very tone.

"Well, its still not polite to pace around like some rampaging tiger," sniffed Andrew, "You do need to stop and greet them, after all."

"As do you," snapped Seto, "So get out."

"Yes, sir," Andrew replied with a bit of sarcasm, yawning as he stepped out of the carriage.

Seto felt a brief pang of guilt as he saw the motion. It was already being repeated by other members of his crew, a few of them already nodding off inside various carriages. The men had gotten very little sleep since the arrival of the night messenger, hardly enough to sustain them through the day, even by military standards. Now, normally, marines were trained to go days on end without sleep, but even so, none of the crew had slept well since Seto's sudden promotion long before the impromptu trip to France. That lack of sleep seemed to be taking its toll; like so many others of Seto's crew, Edward stumbled past both officers, bags under his eyes and a distinct slouch to his thin frame. The boy stopped long enough to give a drowsy salute to Seto and Andrew, then promptly threw himself into one of the carriages and collapsed inside.

Seto watched this with a bit of worry, but couldn't give the situation more thought when Andrew's voice broke the stifling silence.

"Ah, your majesties!"

Stiffening visibly, Seto turned to see Sophia, a rather flustered Yami, and a scowling Mahado striding across the main courtyard from the palace doorway, escorted by a few gaurds who were dragging along their traveling bags. As awkward as they seemed, the trio were a lovely sight in the low light of the morning-- Sophia dressed in modest tan, Yami in elegant red and gold, and Mahado in dark maroon and black. Even so, the Commodore felt his heart leap up to his throat. Swallowing back a large sigh, he forced a thin smile and bowed as the small group approached.

Sophia greeted him with a warm smile, and Seto was thankful that she didn't look nearly as hysterical or grief-stricken as she did earlier. Yami, on the other hand, wouldn't meet Seto's gaze, turning a lovely shade of red as they drew ever closer to each other. Mahado just seemed miserable, sending the Commodore a defiant and dirty look as if this was all some kind of cruel and unusual punishment.

'As if I'm happy to see you, too,' Seto thought dryly, chuckling darkly to himself. Coughing awkwardly, he straightened, smoothing his face into what he hoped was an expression of apathy. With as much flourish he could muster at this horrible hour, he opened the door to the main carriage, holding his hand out for Sophia and consciously avoiding both Mahado's and Yami's gazes. "I apologize for the hastiness, my Queen, but we must hurry if we are to make the best of our time." Seto was quite pleased to hear that his voice did not waver.

Sophia nodded tiredly, accepting his hand as he helped her climb --with some difficulty -- into the carriage. Ever the gentlemen, Seto continued to hold the door open, watching solemnly as Yami climbed in gracefully after Sophia. The boy sent him a soft word of thanks and received a curt nod in reply, though the Commodore quickly found himself looking down at his shoes, fighting the rising heat in his neck. Through both his hat and wig, Seto could almost feel Mahado's fierce scowl boring into him as the musketeer followed the Prince into the carriage.

Sighing as the three inside settled themselves, Seto glanced briefly over his shoulder, satisfied to see that the bags had been loaded. Andrew, who was ushering the rest of the crew into their respective carriages, waggled his eyebrows in the Commodore's direction, as if to say, "Ha ha, thank the Lord I'm not you."

Rolling his eyes in return, Seto sent his lieutenant a meaningful glare before climbing into the carriage himself, inwardly sighing. This was going to be a very _long_ day.

&&&&&&&&&&

The carriage ride was... _interesting_. Mahado had quickly grown bored of glaring at Seto and instead spent the rest of the time trying to cover the carriage window from the curious eyes of commoners. Yami, fascinated by the vast fields and bustling towns of France, blatantly ignored his efforts and repeatedly opened the curtains to peer outside, his eyes childishly wide with wonder and excitement. Seto found this absolutely adorable, though he would never admit it aloud. Sophia patiently spent much of her time answering the endless string of questions that poured from the Prince; Seto absently noted, with relief, that this activity took her mind off her father.

Twice, they stopped briefly to eat, and much to both Seto's and Mahado's dismay, Yami spent almost the entire time playing with dirty little peasant children, eager to learn their ways. Sophia, however, wouldn't let Seto nor Mahado intervene with her stepson's activities, so the two had to settle for glowering at each from across a café table. A few times, their glaring contest would be briefly interrupted; Seto would be called away by one of his crew, or Mahado would rush desperately to ward off some hungry admirers from Yami's private space. In the end, however, both returned to their shared table only to throw dark, dirty looks at each other.

Back on the road, it wasn't any better. At least when they were in town, there was always something else to watch; some women hanging clothing outside, a few children chasing a puppy, a drunkard singing on the streets, that sort of thing. In the carriages, however, Seto and Mahado had very little to look at but each other. That soon got terribly boring, if not nerve-wrackingly annoying.

Hours into the journey, as the stifling mid-day heat began to shorten tempers and melt patience, the carriage felt more and more like a prison. Seto, though unbothered by any temperature, found that his headache was growing steadily worse and was just not going away. In an effort to relieve his agony, he had taken to resting his hat --or as much of it he dared to shift off his head without publicly denouncing proper etiquette-- against his forehead, eyes shut tightly against the offending light that peeked through the carriage curtains. Beside him, Sophia spend the time brooding silently. In one hand, she flapped her hand fan madly, while her other arm sought constantly to be linked with Seto's-- a clear sign of her worry. Mahado, large hat tilted casually yet defiantly against one side of his head, sat slouched in the seat across from the Queen, glaring at some wicked being beyond her head that only he could see. Having grown bored with the endless fields flying past their window, Yami soon fell asleep on Mahado's shoulder, rocked by the rumbling of the carriage.

Seto eventually found himself staring at the Prince, mesmerized by the graceful curves of the boy's profile. The boy was beautiful lying there with his eyes closed in blissful sleep, his long eyelashes dark against his bronzed skin, his blond bangs curling angelically around his fair face. He looked so... _peaceful_. Seto wondered briefly if _he_ ever looked that innocent, that relaxed.

It was only when Mahado's hand reached out to brush the bangs off the boy's cheek that the Commodore jolted back into reality. Seto sent Mahado a quick, questioning glance. The musketeer, eyed him suspiciously, a clear warning in his green eyes. Somewhat uncomfortable to be caught staring, Seto looked away and out the window. He felt Mahado glare at him for a moment more before turning away.

They didn't look at each other again for the rest of the journey.

&&&&&&&&&&

They arrived at the port city sometime in the afternoon, after nearly ten horrendously tedious hours of constant riding. Their horses were exhausted, as were all the passengers. Those that slept during the trip were groggy, and those that did not were just cranky.

When they pulled into the bustling town, Yami was already awake, peering out the window with wide eyes. They passed endless rows of paved streets, each lined with cozy old houses and colorful little shops selling food, goods and some other odds and ends that Yami desperately wanted to identify. The air was filled with vendors' shouts and the lively murmuring of the crowd. The streets were packed with people; women rushed about to do their shopping, bartering for lower prices and stopping briefly to gossip; men hustled this way and that with bags of flour and other supplies, sweat soaking their faded shirts; a few children ushered a flock of white ducks down the road, while a few others, covered in mud, ran after a poor three-legged puppy. Smells of manure, meat, and pastry bombarded the prince's senses, making his nose wrinkle.

Then a new smell began to overwhelm the others, stark, salty and refreshing. The sound of seagull's cawing mingled with the noise of the town. Much to Mahado's dismay, Yami squealed and stuck his head out the window, eyes ablaze with curiosity. 'I recognize that smell...' the boy thought to himself, in glee. It was the same aroma he had sensed on the Commodore's jacket that night at the party.

It was the smell of the ocean.

Yami's fair face broke into a giant, delighted grin. The large road before them ended abruptly a few hundred yards in front of them, as did the line of houses and buildings on either side. A wide, wooden boardwalk then continued on for another few yards, covered with people, barrels and boxes of various supplies. Ships lined up against the dock, all tied to the boardwalk by numerous ropes, with their masts rising high above the port. Men, both in and out of uniform, dragged supplies up and down the planks. On the decks of the largest ships swarmed numerous men in blue jackets and dark hats, their uniforms marking them clearly as men of the British Royal Navy.

Yami felt his breath catch in his throat. It had been many years since he had been on any ship, let alone even _seen_ one. Even so, these fine specimens were clearly marvelous, beautifully crafted even to the untrained eye. One, directly in front, was labeled the _H.M.S. Dragon_, a fine, elegant ship made of dark, strong oak, with a carved dragon on the front of her bow and her name painted proudly in slender, white calligraphy just under her railing. Down her side were, visibly, the exposed muzzles of numerous cannons, bringing a dangerous edge to her almost serene beauty. A smaller and sleeker ship, the _H.M.S. Falcon_, rested beside her larger sister, all sleek and lean. Two other ships, nearly identical and massive in bulk, were labeled the _H.M.S. Queen Susan _and the _H.M.S. Atlantica_, both armed with a considerable amount of cannons. The last was the _H.M.S. Lady Eva_, an extremely elaborate ship with no cannons in sight but plenty of extravagant decorations.

Yami looked past them, inhaling the sweet ocean air. Beyond the ships, there was just ocean... Pure, beautiful ocean. Candy for the eyes, it was vast blanket of ever-changing blue, sparkling with the golden light of the sun. In the distance, a pale, silvery horizon was drawn neatly between the water and the air, dotted with the distant shadows of merchant ships and floating masses of seagulls.

"Your majesty, I must protest," pleaded Mahado from inside the carriage, exasperation in his voice, "If you would only settle down..."

Sighing, Yami relished the cool, salty air for a moment more. Then, all too aware of the stares he was getting from passer-byers, he ducked his head back in the carriage. Once inside, , the Prince blinked rapidly, his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. Looking up with an expression of pure innocence, he was met with varying degrees of amusement. Sophia was grinning broadly at his eagerness, looking quite pleased; Mahado, though frowning, also seemed quite content with Yami's excitement, his green eyes warm and gentle. And Seto... well... Seto wasn't looking at Yami at all. Instead, he was actually mirroring the prince's example, peering out the window with the eagerness of a child. His normally icy blue eyes were suddenly alive with anticipation, suppressed excitement all but radiating off his body.

Yami thought the Commodore looked so cute just then, but he dared not say it.

&&&&&&&&&&

"_Des beaux puissants bateaux_..."Seto heard two chatting men mutter, both eying the line of brigs along the dock, "_Des très beaux bateaux_!" (Fine ships... Mighty fine ships...)

The Commodore's lips twitched upwards.

"_Soyez maudit les Anglais pour être aussi corrompu_..." (Damn the Brits for being so spoiled...)

Seto rolled his eyes.

Then, a different voice came to Seto's ears, clearer and closer, echoing the men's compliment.

"Oh, they're simply marvelous!"

Seto turned, eyebrows arching under the brim of his hat. He was mildly surprised to see that the statement came from the Prince, whom he had quite quickly forgotten about in his own excitement.

The boy was grinning at him, looking windblown but positively radiant in the afternoon sun. "Your ships," he repeated, more contained this time, "I think they're marvelous."

Seto nodded at him briefly before turning back to where he had been watching his men load the ships. The Commodore lifted his chin proudly, as if saluting the line of ships before him. "That they are," he murmured fondly, not even attempting to hide the pride in his tone.

Yami came and stood beside him, soaking in everything he saw like a child exposed to all the joys of a candy store. Eyes wide, he took in the massive fluttering sails, the men climbing about on deck, the gleam of the sleek hulls... These ships were, no doubt, the pride of the British Royal Navy. The thought that they were _Seto's_ made them all the more precious.

"Is this what it's normally like?" Yami asked finally, breathlessly.

Seto shifted his eyes down toward the Prince, frowning. "Is what like?"

"You know... the life of a sailor," Yami shrugged, motioning aimlessly with his arms, "The town, the people, the work... Is it always this busy?"

Seto pondered for a moment, then gave a dry smirk. "Well, that would depend on how one defines 'busy', your highness," he answered quietly.

They drifted again into a comfortable lapse of silence, side by side, Seto's gaze fixed and dutiful, Yami's wandering all over.

"How do you like your chambers?" asked Seto suddenly, eyes still looking ahead, "Does the _Lady Eva_ suits you?"

Yami looked up, startled, "Oh, yes, certainly, but..." he trailed off, suddenly hesitant.

Seto frowned, "But what, your highness?"

Yami blushed a little, squirming in place. "But she's so _elaborate_!" he blurted out, then quickly shut himself up, horrified.

Seto furrowed his brow, baffled. "But she's meant to be, your highness," he said slowly, gently.

Yami colored some more, looking away uncomfortably. "I apologize," he mumbled, "but I was hoping that I'd get to... you know... live like _you_ do."

Seto was totally confused now. "Live like I do?" he repeated cautiously.

Yami looked up, his cheeks flushed and his eyes flashing with excitement. "Yes, like the Navy men! I think it'll be would be a wonderful experience! After all, I'm so _dreadfully_ tired of stuffy rooms and what not. Besides," he shrugged, taking a deep breath, "Sophia will be staying on the _Lady Eva_. Lieutenant Giles informed me that it is _highly_ dangerous to have two members of royalty on one ship. In case something happens, it would be like killing two birds with one stone, wouldn't you agree? Therefore," Yami declared, with all the pomp of a prince he could muster, "Lieutenant Giles advised that I stay with you on the _H.M.S. Dragon_ for safety purposes." Finishing his announcement, the Prince grinned broadly, suddenly looking far too innocent for his own good.

Seto, desperately working his way through this sudden flood of words, caught the last phrase and nearly jumped out of his skin. Struggling to contain his bewilderment, he looked over Yami's shoulder and sent his lieutenant a dark, irritated glare. Andrew, hovering innocently just a few yards away, sent him a cheeky grin and then went off hurriedly, fearing the Commodore's wrath.

&&&&&&&&&&

'This was a mistake,' Seto thought desperately as he climbed up the boarding plank. He managed to keep a straight face, mind you, but inside he was a total and absolute mess.

The reasons for his state of mind were just behind him, a few feet away; Yami was climbing daintily upon the plank, followed closely by a scowling Mahado, who _insisted_ on staying with the Prince to keep him 'safe' from 'those darn British gits' -- though Seto doubted he knew what a 'git' was. Bringing up the rear of their odd little parade line was Andrew and the remaining members of Seto's crew, most of the men having already boarded. Down on the dock, curious townspeople had lined up to see the ships off, a few waving excitedly, others whispering among themselves.

Their combined voices were giving Seto another terrible headache, but even so, he kept his chin high. He was returning to his ships and crew, after all. No sense in bogging himself down with worry now.

With as much flourish as he could muster in the current situation, he stepped proudly on to the gleaming deck of the _Dragon_, his heels clicking on the sleek wood. The change in him was instantaneous, his eyes lighting up with arctic fire, his shoulders straightening as if they had suddenly been freed of a terrible burden. Taking a deep breath of clean, salty air, Seto was delighted to find the familiar rolling of the ship under his feet, eagerly taking in the flapping of the huge sails above him and the sparkling of the sun's light off the elegant curves of the ship's structure. Unconsciously, the Commodore's hand brushed the rail of the deck, taking comfort in the strong, dark wood.

Feeling distinctly better already, Seto stood a little straighter to greet his crew, most of whom were already lined in neat rows along the deck, waiting to welcome him. Saluting him instantly in one collective moment, the men kept their expressions respectful and blank, though warm welcomes twinkled in their eyes.

Seto gave them an elegant nod in return, knowing that they could all tell that he was _very_ happy to be back... or as happy as he could get, anyways.

Stepping up to introduce Yami and the purpose of their impromptu return, Andrew soon joined the ranks of the crewmembers already present, grinning as he gave a cheerful salute to his commanding officer. "Your orders, Commodore?"

Seto almost smiled. Feeling the familiar sense of duty and excitement thrum through him, he took a deep breath of refreshing oceanic air. When he finally spoke, his voice strong and clear as it echoed over the deck. "All hands on deck, men. We sail for England."

&&&&&&&&&&

Yami was antsy. He longed to go above deck, to see the sailors and the marines prepare to sail, but Mahado was already seasick, sprawled out on the guest bed in a most unbecoming manner. Sighing, the prince sat back down on his stool, rubbing soothing circles on his friend's back. Mahado had stripped off his gear and his jacket, but even so, he looked as if he was being choked by his remaining clothes.

"Aye, Mahado, you never told me you hated sailing so..." Yami murmured, feeling a flash of guilt in dragging his poor friend along.

Mahado gave a low groan as he flopped on his stomach, burying his face in his arms. "You wouldn't have let me come with you if I had," he muttered, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he fought back another wave of nausea that accompanied a shallow dip of the ship.

Yami frowned sympathetically and stood. "At least let me get you some medicine for your pain..."

Mahado looked up weakly, his eyes warm and twinkling with mirth. "Well well, normally it would be me taking care of _you_."

Yami laughed lightly as he turned, maneuvering through the tight quarters toward the door. "You spoil me, Mahado," he declared as he passed through the slender doorway, "At least let me do the same to you."

&&&&&&&&&&

Now, Yami wasn't entirely sure where to go or whom to go to for some medicine, but he found himself meandering through the small corridors of the ship in the general direction of the Commodore's chambers. Running into some dead ends and a few thoroughly confused marines, Yami eventually reached his destination with little trouble, though he had already forgotten how to return to Mahado's room.

Staring blankly for a moment at the intricately carved oak door, Yami was horrified to find himself blushing at the mere thought of being so near the Commodore's private quarters. Fighting back the wave of color on his cheeks, he hesitated briefly, then summoned his courage and timidly knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Yami shivered at the silken tone of the officer's voice but did as he was told, opening the door slowly and cautiously peeking his head inside.

The main room was Seto's office, a simple but elegant chamber so clean that it practically sparkled. Made of glowing chestnut oak like the rest of the ship, the chamber was modest in size and simply decorated with a bookcase in the corner, a paper-adorned desk in the middle of the floor, and a few dressers that probably held Seto's private belongings. The far wall, behind the desk, bore a small porthole with a breathtaking view of both the ocean and the horizon in all their glory. From beyond the glass, sunlight poured into the room, bathing the desk and its neatly-piled contents with a warm, sparkling glow. To the right, a large map hung on the wall, dotted meticulously with pins and markers; Yami realized with a thrill that it covered the entire Mediterranean, with England in one corner and Egypt in the other. Left of the map, on the other wall, hung various pistols, daggers and swords, all of them marvelously crafted and inlaid with precious metals.

It was against this wall that Seto stood, dressed now in a plainer uniform far less flamboyant than the one he had worn for his promotion and his French trip. His hat, too, had changed into a simpler version with a modest gold border; after scanning the room a bit, Yami found the feathered and gold-inlaid one forgotten on the desk.

Curious, the Prince stepped into the room, cocking his head.

The Commodore had yet to acknowledge him, and in an instant, it became clear why. He was carefully and slowly tying a sword to his belt, and after a moment, Yami noted that it was now a sparkling silver one, the gold one having taken its place on the wall.

"That's an impressive collection of weaponry you have there, Commodore," Yami said sweetly, drawing the man's gaze toward him.

Instantly noting Yami's presence, Seto turned and bowed quickly to greet him. He stood with a small sigh, shrugging as he turned back to admire the weapons hanging on his wall. "I wouldn't call collecting weapons my hobby, but yes, it is a nice collection." He turned back to Yami, a dry smirk on his pale lips. "They were gifts. Mainly from my promotions."

Yami was impressed, though he had to admit that standing with a man as intimidating as Seto next to a wall covered with pistols and swords was less than comforting. "I apologize if I'm bothering you, Commodore," he started respectfully, changing the subject quickly, "but I'm afraid Mahado has taken ill."

Seto's eyebrows arched, his lips curling upward with amusement. "Already?"

"...He's... rather sensitive," Yami managed sheepishly, flushing for more reasons than one. He looked up with the sweetest smile he could muster. "Do you have anything to help him?"

Seto pondered the request carefully. True, he wasn't happy with 'helping' that blasted blond musketeer, but then again, the pleading look in Yami's eyes was slowly but surely reducing him to mush. He shook himself out of it, nodding and keeping his expression neutral. "As you wish, your highness. I'll return shortly, if you would wait here."

Yami nodded, and with a few elegant strides, Seto was gone and out the door.

&&&&&&&&&&

It didn't take long for Yami to get restless... again. He was on a ship for only the second on his life, and by hell, he wanted to go _exploring_. Temporarily forgetting about Mahado, the prince found himself wandering about the Commodore's office with fascination, taking in every detail and wisely avoiding the closed door that no doubt led to Seto's bed chambers.

The Commodore was an amazingly neat person, to no one's surprise. Even the man's handwriting was precise and perfect, if the elegant script on the papers on the desk were any clue. Not being able to understand half the military jumble that laid about, however, Yami found himself drawn to the bookshelf. Knowing Seto, he excepted the books there to be massive volumes of the British Naval Code or something, probably collecting dirt and dust since the Commodore probably memorized the whole damn Code already.

Much to Yami's surprise and delight, there were less military books than they were pleasure ones, most of them in English but a few in Latin, French and Spanish as well. Unable to contain his curiosity, Yami reached out hesitantly and snagged a particularly big book, surprised to find it old and tattered in his fingers.

He pulled the book into his arms, gazing down at it with interest. "_Dragons_...?" he whispered in disbelief, tracing the elegant lines of a painted white dragon on the cover. Surprised, the boy opened the cover carefully and found the book to be quite fascinating, brimming with mythology, history and various pictures of dragons from all over the world.

"My my, you are an impatient one, are you not, my Prince?"

Yami jumped, shutting the book instantly when he spotted Seto sliding through the door, a small jar in his hand. The Prince blushed furiously, stuffing the book hastily back in its place. "C-Commodore, I'm so sorry!" he stammered, "You had such a wonderful book collection and I couldn't resist--"

"Wonderful book collection?" Seto echoed, paling. In a rare show of uneasiness, the man rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, only now noticing_ which_ book Yami had so hastily put back. "Oh... I see you've seen another one of my... erm... odd ways."

Yami, surprised at this rather cute display of shyness, found himself smiling broadly. "Do you like dragons, dear Commodore?" he purred innocently.

Much to his delight, the Commodore flushed a lovely shade of pink. The man heaved a heavy sigh, as if the world was coming to an end. "Alas," he said quietly, embarrassed, "'Tis a childhood passion, nothing more."

"Actually, they're quite fascinating," Yami agreed sweetly, storing Seto's words in the back of his mind. Who knew? Stiff British Naval officers weren't so damn stiff after all. The thought made his heart flutter.

To his surprise, after giving a small frown, Seto suddenly came over to him and set the jar on the table. Moving back, the man pulled open the hanging flap of his jacket and revealed the pistol and his sword tucked into his belt. With a swift, graceful movement, the Commodore pulled out his sword, the metal of the blade gleaming in the afternoon sun. The officer held the tip of the sword gingerly in one hand as he tipped the handle into his other palm, offering it to Yami. "This was my first sword... or rather, my first personal one besides the rickety one we used in training. It cost me more than two month's pay, but under Andrew's er... _encouragement_, I had it especially made by an old Asian artisan when we spent a few weeks training in Japan."

Yami stared at the hilt. Unlike the brass and gold-inlaid ones that hung on the wall, this sword was made almost entirely of silver, a tiny, majestic dragon painstakingly molded to the hand grip, each and every individual scale visible and shimmering. A few tiny, aquamarine gems emphasized the dragon's beauty, each flashing in the dim light. The Prince traced the graceful arches of the dragon's body with a slender finger, marveling at the slightly worn surface of the aged hilt. He ran his fingertip over the dragon's mighty head, suddenly realizing that the eye was inlaid with a sparkling blue jewel larger and darker than the rest. "...Diamond?" he whispered, questioningly.

Seto retrieved the sword, fondly and carefully re-sheathing it. "Sapphire, actually. I hadn't ordered it on the sword, but the old man thought it fit my eyes. He told me it was free," he hesitated, then went on awkwardly, "A 'gift', he called it." He shrugged, a tiny bit of awkwardness in his eyes.

Yami grinned broadly. "It suits you."

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Seto had duties on deck soon, but he took the time to escort Yami --who otherwise would have been hopelessly lost-- back to the twin guest quarters where Mahado laid. Yami found the action incredibly sweet, and after Seto bade him farewell, he found himself back by Mahado's side, half swooning and grinning like a fool.

"I knew it!" the musketeer accused instantly, "You fancy him!" He sputtered a bit at the strength of the medicine, wincing as he drank down the bitter herbal tea from the Commodore's stock. When he finished, the musketeer stretched out lazily on the cot, eyeing Yami with a sharp, piercing glare.

"Oh, he's not _that_ bad," Yami said quickly, blushing. "You must admit _that_."

"I will admit nothing!" Mahado declared, and left it there before the medicine promptly knocked him out.

Rolling his eyes, Yami watched his friend sleep, letting his thoughts float back to a certain blue-eyed Commodore. 'He likes dragons...' he mused to himself, smiling faintly, 'That's so... so... _cute_.'

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Seto wasn't surprised to find the Prince out on deck a short while later, eyes wide with wonder when he found them already out on the open sea. Ignoring the boy for the moment, Seto found himself marching about deck, snapping orders in rapid succession as his crew rushed to do his bidding. Nodding occasionally, he was quite pleased at the efficiency and speed at which his men worked. It was nice to see something worthwhile being done.

The entire fleet, with the _H.M.S. Dragon_ leading and the _Lady Eva_ protectively flanked by the other three, had left the port in record time, flapping sails filled with benign winds, British flags waving proudly at the top of the masts. It wasn't long before land fell from view and they were simply five ships alone on a vast and sparkling ocean.

Seto loved it all. He was thrilled at the sight of his men working away, of the gleaming deck, of the entire mighty fleet sailing on an empty blanket of blue and gold. This was all exactly as he remembered; the rocking of the deck under him, the sting of salty water spraying on board, the distinct chill in the ocean wind clawing at his cheeks.

Yami noticed this instantly. On land, the Commodore was expressionless at best, almost seemingly bored with life in general. Here, however, on the sea, there was arctic fire in the officer's eyes and an almost childish glow to his cheeks. The man was _born_ to sail. He _lived_ to sail. It was as obvious as the sun was in the sky.

"A glorious day, isn't it, your highness?" asked Andrew, coming up beside Yami and nearly startling the boy out of his skin. "Perfect for sailing, if I do say so myself."

Calming himself instantly, Yami drew his gaze away from the Commodore and toward the lieutenant at his side. He nodded, looking around in awe at the glowing ocean. "Aye," he breathed, "I've never seen a sight so beautiful."

They stood side by side at the edge of the deck, relishing the quiet for a moment as Seto's men scrambled about around them.

"He likes Shakespeare, you know," Andrew said suddenly, turning his face toward Yami. His eyes twinkled mischievously before he turned and left, greeting a few fellow marines down the side of the ship.

Baffled, Yami blinked, then flushed. 'He must have heard...' "...S-Shakespeare?" he echoed shyly. Indeed, _Shakespeare_?!

Yami looked up at Seto, who was now silent, standing proudly above them at the helm of the ship. The Prince cocked his head at the handsome man, who thankfully wasn't looking at him. 'SHAKESPEARE,' he repeated silently. 'The _god_ of hopeless romantics.' Yami giggled to himself as he continued to eye the handsome man above him. The officer hardly seemed like the type to read sappy romances like Romeo and Juliet, but who knew? The Commodore was full of surprises.

Yami's thoughts, however, were abruptly interrupted by an alarmed cry from high above, in the crow's nest.

"Commodore! _Pirates_!"

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AN: Er, yeah. -sheepish grin- Yeah, this is kind of a stupid chapter now that I think about it. Pretty pointless, except you get introduced to Seto's obsession with his ships and his dragons. -sweatdrop- The first half of that chapter was SO much harder to write than the second half, which went by like a breeze. -scratches head- I should add more stuff, really. I'm running low on descriptive juice, I'm afraid, and I've grown downright lazy with some parts of the story, as you can probably tell... Yeah, anyways, sorry that I didn't get them together. This chapter was more of a transition chapter (nasty cliffie, wouldn't you agree? :-p) into the whole adventure part of the story. I tried to make it seem as if Yami and Seto are falling more in love, but I'm not sure if that effect is working... I SWEAR, I'm not purposely trying to draw this story out. I'm probably boring the hell out of everything, and I apologize. -sniffle- Stick with me here, people!

NEXT CHAPTER THEY'LL GET TOGETHER AND ALSO KICK SOME PIRATE BUTT! YAY! -cheers-

As my conductor says, a review would be "special". XD PRETTY PLEEEEASE?!


	6. The Martyr Complex

Again, I am SO sorry for being so slow. I haven't been in the mood to write. :-/ Anyhoo, I hope that stage is over, so please enjoy this chapter! (And plus, I have a new story up for anyone who wants to read... XD -hint hint-) And thank you SO much to my loyal fans (and my new ones)... I LOVE YOU ALL VERY VERY MUCH! Merci beaucoup! XD

NOTE: Damn, I KNEW I forgot to mention this somewhere. -am so ashamed- I did get some ideas from a story called "Men of our Word" (and the "bloody martyr complex" from a story called "Rant") about Norrington's adventures with Jack Sparrow. Xp Not that anyone (except Inner Voice) knows what I'm talking about... -whistles innocently- Ignore me, go on and read.

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(...) - translated French

"..." - English (occasionally w/ un-translated words from other languages)

... - translated ancient Egyptian

'...' - private thoughts

_italics_ - words/terms/pronunciations NOT in the language being currently spoken or in the English narration

**bold** - song lyrics

- footnotes

AN - author's note

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**CHAPTER SIX: The Martyr Complex**

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"Commodore! _Pirates_!"

Yami felt a violent shudder run up his spine at the mere word. Alarmed, he looked up toward the bridge.

Seto's expression had shifted instantly from serene to cold, his eyes flashing the color of ice as a rigid frown appeared on his fair features. "Position?" he barked, as his men paused in their work to look at him.

"Two o'clock, sir!"

Andrew was instantly by Seto's side, hurriedly handing the man a military spyglass -the golden type that Yami had read about but had never seen. Lips pursed, Seto snatched the contraption from his lieutenant and aligned the smaller end with his right eye, spotting the pirates almost instantly. They were slightly off the starboard side of the _Dragon_, rather distant but still clearly visible in his spyglass. Their fleet consisted of three dark, old ships, all in various states of decomposition as they bobbed slowly and gently in the water. **1**

'Good Lord...' Seto thought, alarmed, 'Pirates rarely come so close to shore...'

Aiming the spyglass, the officer quickly noted the hasty scrawl on the sides of the pirate ships and recognized it instantly. It was Parris's crew, or at least a part of it. Seto frowned, lowering the spyglass. 'This doesn't seem like him...' he mused, his mind racing, 'Parris doesn't have enough of a backbone to attack in open daylight near shore...'

Parris -as he called himself, since no one really knew his name- was a notorious pirate captain, feared and hated by all that lived along European waters. He was an old, sly bastard, smart as a fox and notoriously hard to kill, as Seto and other men of his profession would know. In fact, Seto often wondered when the hell the old man was going to just _die_ and let him go along his business in peace.

Contemplating, the Commodore was quiet for a moment, his blue eyes hard and narrowed. Glancing through the spy glass once more, he noted another observation. "They're harassing two merchant ships," he announced, neutrally.

At his words, sudden anger crackled in the air as marines exchanged quick glances with each other and leaned over the rail to see for themselves.

"Are we to engage them, sir?" asked Andrew quietly.

Seto was silent, his mind racing. It was an unspoken law that the oceans belonged to the British Navy, no matter how close to foreign shores said Navy happened to be. That would mean that he had every duty and right to engage the pirates in battle, especially if innocent lives were in danger. There were three pirate ships, from what he saw, and five ships in his own fleet; he had the advantage of numbers, but Sophia was on board the _Lady Eva_, and Yami was on board the _Dragon_...

'Blast it all,' Seto's sharp eyes scanned the deck and landed on a certain red-eyed Prince who currently stood at the base of the bridge's stairway, looking up at him with wide, anxious eyes. Their gazes met for a long moment, before Seto looked away.

The life of two for the life of many... It was a risk he had to take, however hard it would be to do so.

"Prepare the cannons, lieutenant," Seto murmured finally to Andrew, his brow furrowed. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Have the _Falcon_ stay behind with the _Lady Eva_."

Andrew hesitated briefly, then rushed off, flying down the stairs and bellowing orders as he went.

Seto found himself instantly by Yami's side, though the boy stood rooted to the spot. "Your highness," he greeted hurriedly, taking the stunned boy by the elbow, "It is not safe here. You cannot stay."

Yami's eyes lit up with interest. "Battle then? You are going to battle?"

Seto looked at him for a long time. "... My good Prince, understand that It is my _duty_ to save those ships," he remarked finally, _willing_ Yami to understand. He knew the boy would forgive him for putting his life on the line, but Seto wasn't sure if he could forgive _himself_.

He was pulling Yami along now, hurriedly leading the boy down below as marines rushed past, each armed with pistols, swords and gunpowder. "You must not stay above deck," Seto repeated urgently, all but shoving Yami in the direction of his room once they reached one of the inner corridors. "Stay in your room, with the musketeer; you'll be safe there."

Yami turned, sputtering, "Commodore, I must protest! You cannot simply _dismiss_ me!"

Seto pursed his lips. "With all due respect, your majesty," he growled, "I am the supreme authority on this ship. I _order_ you to go to your room."

Yami raised his chin defiantly. "I want to _see_!"

Silence.

Seto's eyes flashed, and before he could help himself, he drew Yami in his arms, holding the small boy protectively against him. The embrace was lightening fast, but heated. "Do as I say, my Prince..." he whispered fiercely, his breath hot in the boy's ear, "If anything happens to you, I swear I will never forgive myself."

Then he was gone, rushing up the stairs as he drew his silver sword, bellowing commands.

Yami was left stunned, shaking and blushing.

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Andrew raised an eyebrow when his commanding officer, a bit flushed and looking entirely too shaken, rejoined him on the bridge. Though his dark eyes sparkled with mirth, the lieutenant wisely chose to stay silent about the matter. Instead, he gave Seto a few seconds to compose himself then respectfully stated, "The _Falcon_ is protecting the _Lady Eva_, sir, as you ordered."

Blue-white flames lit up in Seto's eyes, fueled by battle adrenaline. "Are the cannons prepared?" he asked, his pale lips pursed in a thin line.

"Yes, sir."

Seto nodded, pleased. He settled his hands on the smooth oak of the helm's wheel, feeling the familiar rumbling of his ship thrumming between his fingers and the wood. Lord, he could never get enough of this feeling, of steering the legendary _H.M.S. Dragon_ straight into battle. It gave him a sense of danger, of _excitement._

Shaking his head to clear it, the Commodore quickly went over the situation at hand. The ship count was three on three now; worse odds than he had before, though he felt much better with the _Lady Eva_ protected rather than rushing into battle with the entire fleet.

The _Dragon _was now racing through the ocean waves, flanked on _Atlantica_ on her right and _Queen Susan _on her left, all of them with cannons open and exposed. The fleet was approaching the pirate ships quickly now, and the men onboard could soon make out the telltale black flags flying from the worn-down masts. The dark ships, crudely painted and probably all stolen, were floating in a rough semi-circle around two other ships, both modestly sized and tan in color. One, the smaller, seemed to be floundering, though it was hard to tell from this distance whether the ship was majorly damaged or merely floating lopsidedly.

Seto made a mental note to check that ship for damage, but was soon distracted when a terrible sound reached his ears; human screaming. The calm ocean waters easily carried the hysterical voices of women, children and men alike, each wailing in fear and terror.

The sound made Seto's blood boil.

"Your orders, sir?" asked Andrew quietly, all mirth gone from his expression. He looked paler than normal.

Seto's scowl was nothing less than feral. "Let's kick some pirate arse."

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"Mother's love, the Navy! The Navy!"

"What in the bloody _hell _are ya jabberin' about?"

"The _Dragon_, mate! She's undefeatable!"

A low laugh. "Oh, is that so?"

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Andrew involuntarily cringed as sudden cannon fire erupted around him, shaking the deck below his feet. The acrid smell of gunpowder quickly filled the air, soon followed by the bellowing of both pirate and marine alike. "Hold your positions!" the lieutenant as he joined the line of men aiming their muskets against the railing, "RETURN FIRE!"

Still manning the helm, Seto didn't even flinch.

Their plan, for now, was simple: surround and kill. The _Dragon_, _Queen Susan_ and _Atlantica _were currently forming a makeshift circle around the pirates, firing their cannons into the trapped ships. The pirates, however, were quick to respond, firing their own cannons and even attempting to use some stolen muskets. One of the pirate ships turned and swamped the small, floundering merchant ship, no doubt attempting to pick up its crew in the mist of the battle.

Absently, even as bullets whizzed past his head, Seto could see the _Lady Eva _floating safely in the distance, flanked by the slim _Falcon_. The two ships glowed and sparkled in the warm tones of setting sun, but were soon obscured by dark, choking smoke. The horizon, too, disappeared under a cloud of fumes.

'_Smoke_?' Now very alarmed, Seto looked back toward the battle, dismayed to notice that the pirates attempting to abandon the smaller merchant ship had set the poor thing on fire. The ship's bow was now aflame, the stern was quickly sinking. In anything, the number of terrified screams increased.

The Commodore's eyes narrowed, flashing with rage and horror.

"Sir!" came Edward's shaking voice as the boy rushed on the bridge with a musket in his arms, his eyes wild, "The ship! They're-!"

"I _know_," growled Seto, his expression darkening. Even as his mind raced to compensate for this unexpected event, one thing was clear; their current plan had to be abandoned. This fight could no longer be about winning, nor about defeating the pirates. If there was one rule that the Navy held above all the others, it was to save innocent lives. After all, ships, goods and arms could be easily replaced, but the lives of women and children could not be.

"Edward, fetch Lieutenant Giles," snapped Seto, growling under his breath.

Edward paled, wavering slightly. "...Sir...?"

Seto was grim, clutching the helm until his fingers were bone white. "We have to save that ship."

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Spreading word of the new mission did not take long, but to Seto, they had lost precious time doing so. Now in a tight triangular formation, the _Dragon_ led _Atlantica_ and the _Queen Susan_ deep into the heart of the battle, all firing madly as the pirates quickly surrounded them. Fighting every inch of the way, the Navy ships quickly formed a protective circle around the two floundering merchant vessels, one of which was quickly disappearing before everyone's eyes.

Seto was running purely on automatic now. As Andrew rushed on to the bridge, the Commodore barked at him to take the helm before he himself rushed down the stairs, a blur of blue and white. Cannon fire was dangerously close now, rattling the men's teeth and shaking the very deck under them. Out of the corner of his eyes, Seto spotted the flapping black sails of a pirate ship nearby, but gave it no more thought as he struggled to see through the burning smoke that had enveloped his ship.

"Ten men, with me!" he roared over the pounding gunfire, praying that at least a few of his men heard. Indeed, he heard a few pairs of clicking heels behind him as he rushed down the length of the deck. The sound was at least a little bit reassuring.

The small merchant vessel was already fairly close, and under Andrew careful steering -Lord knows how he managed in this horrendous smoke- it was soon side by side with the _Dragon_, aligned nearly perfectly. The smell of burning wood and gunpowder was now overwhelming, but even so, the _Dragon_ stood admirably still through it all.

Not wanting to waste a minute, Seto and his followers rushed to throw ropes, planks and ladders over the side of the deck, straining to hear the 'clunk' that signaled a successful landing on the other ship. The screaming of terrified men and women were stronger now than it had ever been, and Seto flinched visibly under the sound, gritting his teeth as he worked.

'I'm going to get you out,' he told himself as a particularly loud wail reached his ears, 'I swear I will.'

"Commodore!" one of his men cried out, somewhere near the bridge. "SIR!"

Blindly, Seto raised his head toward the voice.

"They're boarding the ship, sir!"

A violent shiver ran up Seto's spine. _'Impossible_...' Seto shook his head in both fury and disbelief. Since when did pirates board Navy ships? It was always the other way around!

"Commodore?" This time it was Andrew. "What are your orders?"

Seto knew his answer immediately, even as he swung himself over the railing and grabbed on to a rope. "Lieutenant, do NOT let them take the ship!"

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The next few minutes went as a confusing blur, but the next thing he knew, Seto was on the dangerously sloped deck of the sinking merchant ship, with fire and smoke and screaming all around him. Looking around as he struggled to stay upright on the sharp incline of the ship, he grimly noted the rising sea on his left and the flames on his right, eating away at the pale wood and making him flinch in their excruciating heat. All around him, his men were dropping like raindrops from the Dragon's ropes, each dragging along their weapons and covered in soot.

"Search for survivors!" Seto ordered, his voice straining. Dizzy from the smoke and with his eyes burning, he was nonetheless pleased to find that his men were quick to follow his commands, spreading out and rushing into doorways and across the deck.

"HHEEEEYYYYAAA!"

Reflexively, Seto jerked to the left as a sword whizzed past his head, nearly taking a neat slice out of his poor hat. In an instant, his own sword was out and slicing through the air, deflecting another blow and aiming its own. In the weak firelight, Seto could make out his opponent; a bulky pirate with a massive hat, dressed in tattered rags and smelling to the high heavens. Wrinkling his nose in disdain, Seto aimed a quick stab to the man's chest, pleased to hear his pained groan and a heavy thud as the body dropped like a stone.

An incoming battle cry alerted him of another pirate, and Seto spun around, raising his sword just in time to block a high blow. The shock made him wince, but he stood his ground. This pirate was a smaller man, though no less stinky than the first. He wore a bright red shirt that hurt Seto's smoke-burned eyes, but the Commodore still met the pirate stroke for stroke, easily gaining the advantage with his superior height. The man was dead in no time.

Pistol shots ran out through the flickering fire, and Seto felt a split second of dread, fearing that perhaps he had not brought enough men to battle the pirates remaining on this ship. Fighting that worry aside, Seto brushed past the pirate's body, sword in one hand and drawing his pistol with the other. His men were armed and well-trained, he reminded himself. They could handle themselves -hopefully.

Indeed, not a moment later, a few of his men passed him in a loping run, dragging along wailing survivors.

"God Bless the Navy!" a pudgy woman cried suddenly, appearing out of no where to snag the front of Seto's uniform, almost dragging him to the ground as she threw herself as his feet. "Bless you!"

"Sorry, sir!" A marine ran past, prying the woman from Seto. They were soon both gone.

Seto blinked and then shrugged himself out of his own stupor. Turning on his heel, he struggled through the closest doorway and into the smoke-infested corridor within. The next few minutes consisted of a whole lot of smoke, confusion and heat, all of which was attacking Seto mercilessly. Barely able to see and singeing his jacket on a few burning pieces of rubble, Seto could only feel around with the tip of his sword, praying to the high heavens that there wasn't some pirate ready to ambush him within the next three or so. It then occurred to him that any pirate finding himself in this position was either already dead or already fled.

It was then that he heard the wailing of a small child, English-born by the accent. "PLEASE, SOMEBODY, ANYBODY, HELP ME!"

Stiffening, Seto retraced his steps down one of the main corridors of the ship, fighting his way up the sloped deck. Coughing, he took off his hat and pressed it tightly against his face. The fire was close here, though he couldn't see it; the heat was unbearable, and he could almost feel his wig sizzling.

'Blast, I shouldn't have worn my expensive one,' Seto noted absently as he tapped his way around. Some distant part of his mind was going on and on about how much of a shame it was to loose such a fine, strapping ship, but Seto told that part of him to go jump off a bridge. There were more important things to attend to.

The wailing grew louder. "MOMMY! PLEASE!" It was a little girl, young and sobbing hysterically.

Seto lifted the hat briefly from his face. "I'm coming!"

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Samantha screamed. Heat and smoke were all around her, choking her, tearing at her skin, suffocating her lungs. Unable to see, she gasped frantically for air, tasting acrid fumes on her tongue. She curled desperately under her desk, hugging herself and shaking in terror as the painful heat swamped her.

Someone called out to her, their voice warped but distinctly close. It was muffled slightly by the closed door.

"MOMMY!" the little girl tried again, sobbing.

There was sudden pounding on the door, followed by the doorknob being furiously rattled. Samantha jumped, terrified. Was it a pirate? Was it her mother?

She bit her lip, petrified with fear and indecision. Should she unlock the door? She had locked it when she heard the pirates outside, but what if this wasn't a pirate?

For a terrifyingly long moment, there were heavy slams into the door, no doubt from some kind of brunt force. Then, finally, there was a teeth-rattling crash as a large object hurtled into the door, splintering it neatly down the middle. A man in blue and white stumbled in, tall, slender and armed with a pistol and a flashing silver sword.

Samantha's eyes widened. She recognized the uniform immediately; the British Navy! Oh, how her father used to praise the Navy! Before she could even control herself, the girl crawled out and obediently held open her arms.

Sheathing his sword quickly, the man wasted no time in scooping her up in his arms, turning and leaping back into the hallway. Panicked and gasping, Samantha could only cling to the man's strong neck as he weaved his way through the ship's corridors, bravely fighting the smoke and the heat.

There was some strangled, barbaric yell behind them, and Samantha jumped when the marine turned on his heel, aimed his pistol, and shot through the smoke. Startled by the gunshot, the girl bit back a scream and buried her face in the marine's neck. She heard a thud of something heavy falling behind them and shut her eyes, sobbing against the marine's jacket.

"Shh... We're almost there, it's alright..." A deep, soothing voice washed over the little girl, and it took her a moment to realize that it was the Navy man that spoke.

She whimpered, hugging his neck even tighter as he leapt up a few stairs.

He said nothing else for the duration of their flight, but gave an audible sigh of relief when they suddenly emerged on to the top deck. Sweet, cool air washed over them, still laden with smoke but much more breathable than before. Samantha, surprised, opened her eyes and lifted her head, looking about in curiosity.

Much of the deck was on fire, and for some reason, the ocean seemed unreasonably close.

'We're _sinking_...!' the girl thought in horror before she promptly buried her face in the marine's neck again.

The man rushed up the deck, yelling to a few other men in blue and white uniforms. "Are there any more?"

"None, sir! We got them all!" some man answered, his voice muffled in the smoke.

"Everyone, back to the _Dragon_! Now!"

"Yes, sir!"

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The girl was cutting off his air supply, but Seto ignored the discomfort as he climbed, holding the child with one arm while he used the other to climb the ladder. Though dizzy from the smoke, he was relieved to find that a light wind had blown up, lifting much of the cloud of suffocating fumes from his ship.

It was then that he was aware of screams coming from above him.

_Pirates had boarded his ship._

The thought made Seto's blood boil with rage. He rushed up the rest of the ladder, pistol cocked and ready to fire. With less grace than he would have preferred, he scrambled over the railing and back on the _Dragon_'s deck, preparing for the worst.

There was screaming and fighting all around him, a horrendous mix of battle cries, screams, gunshots and clanging swords. Locked in bloody combat, pirates in rags clashed with marines in uniform, every man a blur of flailing limbs, flashing swords, and brilliant color.

The girl in Seto's arms screamed in terror, clutching to him even tighter.

'I have to get her out of here...' Seto thought desperately. He spotted the cabin entrance, but there was just no way he could cover that distance with a half-loaded gun and a little girl in one arm.

An ugly, one-eyed pirate leapt for them from the roof of the cabin, but Seto quickly shot him down. He aimed and shot again, this time for a pirate nearby that was giving a marine a rather hard time -that is, he was strangling the poor boy. The marine went down with the pirate, but gave a shaky salute to Seto as he tried to climb back up. Seto just inclined his head.

Suddenly, the little girl screamed and pointed wildly behind him. Seto took that as his cue to turn and shoot someone. He did so. A body dropped at his feet barely half a second later.

'Damn, that was my last bullet...' The Commodore let out a string of curses, hastily stashing his pistol into his belt and pulling out his sword instead. It would be dangerous and risky to fight with a blade with a child in his arms, but there didn't seem to be any other choice.

Seto grabbed the girl and leapt into the battle, holding her protectively against his side. Almost immediately, a pirate broke off from a nearby scuffle to leap for them. Seto ducked under the man's blow and aimed his blade upward, slicing easily through the man's chest. The girl was screaming again, but Seto ignored her as he stepped aside to let the pirate fall, only to find that he had now gained the attention of two more.

Now normally, pirates would recognize him instantly on sight. It was a well-known fact that they feared the Commodore as much as they hated him, so Seto was a bit unprepared when the two pirates leapt for him without hesitation.

Cursing in a very un-gentlemanly fashion he knew he would regret later, the marine quickly raised his sword to block the oncoming attack. He grunted when both pirates hit him as one, their force shoving him back against the side of the deck. He slammed violently against the wood, hissing in displeasure as the air was knocked out of his lungs, momentarily stunning him.

"AIIIIEEE!" the girl shrieked, scrambling out of the way.

Gasping as white flashed before his vision, Seto managed to jerk his arm up to block two powerful blows, trying to recover some ground. The two pirates were massive men, the big, burly and stinky kind. They usually had smaller brains than rocks did, but Seto found that his wit was an advantage in this particular situation.

Somewhere from the side, the little girl was screaming louder now, this time in fear for him. One of Seto's men rushed by to snatch her away, an act that the Commodore was _immensely _glad for.

With renewed vigor, the brunette leapt back into the battle, slashing viciously with his sword, his steps graceful and swift. Thrust, parry parry, thrust, jab. The pirates were uneducated men, prone to fighting in strange, desperate ways. Seto, on the other hand, was trained in coordinated military techniques, a fact that usually gave him the advantage until...

BAM!

Seto stumbled, caught off guard when a hard blow slammed into his ribs from behind. His singed hat went flying, though thankfully he did not loose his wig. A third pirate, a strange little pygmy, had leapt on him from a nearly barrel, crowing with maniacal laughter and armed with a wicked, curved dagger. Though it missed its true mark, the blade caught Seto's arm, easily slicing through the thick jacket and the layers of cloth underneath.

Hissing in pain, Seto shoved the pirate off him, rolled away and leapt to his feet, clutching his bloody arm. He was shaking with fury. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it is _dishonorable _to attack a man from the back?" he hissed as he backed against the wall once more. He was in pain everywhere; his arm, his back, his ribs, his leg... Somehow he had a feeling he twisted something, but he wasn't sure where.

The three pirates exchanged wicked glances and began to advance on him, their matching grins revealing yellow, discolored teeth.

Though his arm screamed in pain, Seto raised his sword with his good arm to show that he was not afraid. Hurt, yes, but afraid, never.

"Hey, you!"

It was a wonder how such a melodic voice could carry over all the screaming, but nevertheless, the three pirates turned toward the cry.

ZHIP! ZHIP! ZHIP!

With short, surprised cries, the pirates fell to the ground like collapsed bags of sand.

Seto blinked in surprise, his pain momentarily forgotten. He slowly turned his head, eyes wide with surprised. Still dressed in his pretty gold-red robes, Yami stood two dozen feet away, one slender arm cradling a bunch of daggers, the other raised and ready to toss another blade.

Seto blinked again. Somehow, a delicate little Prince throwing daggers like some ninja from hell didn't quite make any sense.

Yami's eyes were sparkling with excitement, a flush of exhilaration on his cheeks. "Ha!" he cried in a most un-princely manner, "Take that!"

Seto stared openly at him, then looked down at the pirates at his feet. Each had a blade of some sort buried in their chests; on closer inspection, one of such daggers turned out to be... his _letter opener_?

Yami was scrambling toward him now, ducking various fights as he slipped on blood and other messy substances. He huddled near Seto and laughed sheepishly. "Well, Commodore," he started breathlessly, "You didn't have _nearly_ as many daggers as you should on that wall of yours, so I had to improvise and-"

Seto looked up and suddenly cried out in horror. "No!" He threw himself at Yami, tackling the surprised boy to the floor as a pirate swung at the air where the Prince had just been.

BANG! BANG!

Two gunshots ran through the air.

Seto stiffened in shock.

Yami looked up at him, eyes wide with horror as he clung to the man. "Commodore!" he cried.

Seto grunted in surprise when a heavy weight suddenly fell on him from above, slamming his injured arm into the hard floor. Now he KNEW he twisted something... With a pained groan, the man struggled to hold up both his weight and the one on his back, fearing he would crush the small boy below him.

"Sir! Sir, are you alright!" A panicked voice came from above him as someone struggled to shove the fallen pirate off Seto.

The Commodore gasped for air when the task was finally managed, rolling on to his back to let Yami out from under him. The Prince, much to his surprise, rolled with him, ending up sprawled across the officer's chest.

"Are you shot!" the boy cried in abject horror, his trembling hands patting Seto's cheeks. "Are you hurt?"

"Sir!" Edward's worried face appeared above Yami's, darkened with gunpowder. There was a smoking musket in his hand.

Seto stared dazedly at them both, numb with pain. "I don't... believe so..." he managed finally, forcing down a blush as Yami continued to pat him all over. He winced when the boy's hands touched his ribs. Heaven have mercy, he didn't realize now how badly bruised his ribs were, his back probably more so; in light of realizing that, Seto wondered briefly if there was any internal damage. Shuddering, he forced that thought into the back of his mind.

Coincidently, the battle suddenly ended right then and there. The cries and gunshots ceased, leaving that eerie, stunned silence that always followed a battle. Seto struggled out from under Yami and pushed himself up on his good elbow, looking around warily.

There were some holes in the deck's walls and the railing, but overall, his ship seemed in one piece. However, bodies were strewn across the deck, drenched in blood and surrounded by fallen weapons. Most of them were dead pirates, but Seto was horrified to find that a few men in blue jackets were present in the masses. Some pained moans echoed across the deck from wounded marines, some leaning against the wall, others propped between helpful comrades. Thankfully, there were no pirates left standing.

Covered in soot like the rest of the men, Andrew rushed toward Seto and pulled the man up. "My god, your arm-!"

"The pirates?" Seto croaked, looking around. He was immensely relieved to find all his ships floating nearby, including the _Falcon_ and the _Lady Eva_. The _Queen Susan_ was cradling the larger merchant vessel. The smaller trading ship was nowhere to be seen, no doubt long sank.

Andrew pursed his lips as he studied Seto's wounds. "Bloody scallywags are gone, thankfully. The bastards took off as soon as you came back." His voice was grim. "It was like they were just playing with us... Making us angry and then running away."

Seto frowned, feeling a chill run up his spine. "This is most unlike Parris..." he murmured as his crew slowly came alive, some rushing off with the wounded, others beginning to shove pirate bodies off the deck.

Yami was beside him instantly, clutching his un-wounded arm, his eyes sparkling with worry. "Parris? Who's Parris?"

Seto said nothing, gritting his teeth as the gears in his head raced. Parris was a coward and a weak man. He would have never attacked naval ships like so and then leave so many crewmembers to die. No, Seto had a feeling this attack had nothing to do with Parris... This had to be the doing of some newer pirate, a more vicious one...

"Come _on_, Seto," Andrew snapped, dropping the formality in his tone. "I swear, you've got a bloody _martyr _complex! Look, we have to get this arm of yours fixed. Johnson, get some bandages!"

"Aye, sir!"

Seto shook his head, feeling dizzy as Andrew drew him toward a doorway. "No..." he managed, fighting back a wave of pain. He glimpsed the fallen marines on the deck and swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. "I can't... My men..."

Andrew's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Seto..." he whispered faintly, mournfully, "...We lost a good number of men... I-I couldn't- I mean, I tried..." He trailed off, guilt choking his voice.

Seto leaned against the doorway, feeling suddenly far too weak. This wasn't suppose to happen... It wasn't supposed to be this way... This was just supposed to be a simple crossing to England, nothing more. He took a deep, shaky breath, dropping his face in his uninjured hand. Briefly, he wondered where his hat went.

"Seto-" The Prince's voice was soft, his hands just as tender as he stroked Seto's arm in a soothing manner. The use of the Commodore's first name went almost unnoticed.

"How many?" Seto whispered faintly into his hand, his voice muffled.

Andrew hesitated.

"How. Many. _Casualties_?" repeated Seto, his voice harder this time. "Lieutenant, I asked a _question_!"

Andrew shifted uneasily. "Ten deaths, sir..." There was a slight tremor in his voice. "Two more on _Atlantica_, three more on _Queen Susan_... The wounded are not yet counted."

Seto fought to sudden overwhelming urge to cry. _Fifteen_... Fifteen of the best marines in the Royal Navy... just gone.

Seto was always highly regarded in the Navy so he very often had first choice in picking new recruits. Usually choosing the most talented of men, Seto also made sure that they were all loners, either unmarried or widowers. This way, they had nothing to lose and no one to miss, able to willingly throw themselves wholly into their duties, into their battles. Still... After months and even years of this lonely Naval life, his men had grown unnaturally close to each other... and ultimately to _him_.

Seto had met plenty of people in his voyages, but his men still knew him the best. After being around his grumpy, ice-cold character for so long, they were extremely adept at telling his mood, in reading his every movement, in deciphering his every order. Much to Seto's dismay, his men had also grown extremely comfortable around him, though the Commodore had to admit that they were all rubbing off on him... just a little.

In return, Seto's men loved him unconditionally. His brilliant leadership, his unfaltering courage and his firm discipline earned him their utmost respect. If the Angel of Death were to ask one of the sailors or one of the marines why he had fought to his last breath, the answer would not be the dry words "king" or "country," or even the fleeting "glory." The answer would be "for the Commodore." And should the Angel further ask him why he had battled so hard for this one man, the Angel would receive the answer, "because he would die for me." **2**

Just as they would die for Seto in return, for his cause, for his orders...

'Good Lord...' Seto closed his eyes, finally feeling just how _exhausted_ he was. His pain and sorrow was quickly fading away, leaving blissful unconsciousness in their place. He could feel himself falling, the salty air of the ocean all around him, caressing him, running through his hair...

Andrew and Yami cried out at the same time. "Commodore!"

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1 - Thanks to Betty and a few other friends from the Pharaoh's Palace, I thankfully learned how to use a few ship terms correctly... though I'm still unsure if that wheel thingy is called a helm. -scratches head- Anyhow, on a ship, starboard is right (when facing the front of the ship) while port is left. The bridge is the 'command center' where the officers usually are (in Pirates of the Carribean, it's that raised deck where Norrington and Gillette always like to stand; it also contains the helm aka the ship's steering wheel... I think). On the other hand, I honestly think only British people can pull off the 'arse' comment and not look like a total dork.

2 - Most of this beautiful and touching paragraph is sadly not mine. -sniffle- I borrowed it from "Mongrel Commodore", an INCREDIBLY written story about Commodore Norrington (who else? XD) Before anyone freaks out, I DID ask the lovely authoress for permission to use her words (mainly because they were just so TOUCHING) so I didn't break any rules or anything.

AN: Again, thank you all for sticking with me so far. I'm having a hard time finding time and the effort to write, but hopefully you guys don't hate this chapter. :-/ Anyhoo, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! My ego's taken a downhill dive and I really need reviews to boost it. -tear- So please gimme some feedback! And I PROMISE to get the next chapter up soon (as soon as I figure out how to make it sound better :-p) and get them together! XD

Another note: **I HAVE A NEW STORY!** XD Its called "The Chosen", and you can find it under my bio. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ and tell me what you think! Reviews and feedback would be VERY appreciated! (For this story too!)


	7. Starry Nights

I live! Yes, I know, SHOCKING, isn't it? You probably all hate me for being away for so long, but I was really busy with college applications and the beginning of senior year. For anyone that's gone through all that crap, you probably know what I mean. Anyhoo, most of this was actually written back in the summer, but I didn't get to finish it until now. (Thank heavens for Thanksgiving break. YES!)

Enjoy! Hopefully there are still people who read this story, and if you do, I'd greatly appreciate some reviews. XD

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**CHAPTER 7: Starry Nights**

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Seto awoke slowly, thirsty and dizzy. His wounded arm burned painfully and he felt rather light-headed, but other than that, he was alive.

Taking a deep breath, he peeked open his heavy eyelids and blinked rapidly in the dim light. He seemed to be tucked in his bed, safe in his chambers. Warm sunlight poured into the room from the porthole, bathing the far wall in dazzling red light. His room was neat, warm and simple as always, though he could make out some medical equipment and healing herbs scattered on his dresser. The _Dragon_, still sailing smoothly, bobbed gently under him as she made her way toward her final destination. Seto could hear waves crashing melodically against the ship's hull, followed by the distant cries of seagulls and the faint whistling of the wind.

There were a few men in the room with him, whispering quietly amongst each other. They were all marines and dressed in their simple white under-attires, their jackets tossed over a chair by Seto's bed. The Commodore recognized this habit instantly. It meant they were on some kind of schedule, some kind of shift. Had he truly been that badly hurt?

A handsome young marine with lovely blue-green eyes -Phillip, Seto remembered- saw his eyes move and rushed over with a joyful cry. "Sir! You're awake!"

The other two marines, a sweet boy named Ethan and a gangly youth named Thomas, were also quick to scurry on over. Ethan flung himself at Seto's bedside as Thomas ran out crying the good news.

Seto gave a small murmur of disproval, licking his chapped lips. "How long have I been sleeping?"

Phillip gave a charming smile. "More than two whole days, sir."

Seto flinched. "And the wounded? The ship?"

"The wounded are healing, but the three battle ship have taken some damage. We need to have them fixed up in England."

Seto's eyes widened as he remembered and he tried to lift his head. "England! When do we-?"

"Tomorrow morning, sir," chirped Ethan, "We're sailing as fast as we can. The winds are not very strong, but the weather is favorable, thank the Lord."

Seto sighed, resting back against his pillow. So... they were still on course. Sophia would get to see her Father, the survivors were just fine, and all was good. The officer let out a tired sigh, feeling drowsiness wash over him.

A sharp pain suddenly accompanied his attempt to shift his left arm. he grunted, actually a but surprised that his arm didn't feel worse.

Phillip read his baffled expression and smiled. "The Prince healed you, sir... We uh... don't know what he did, but he used some Egyptian techniques and closed your wounds... I think."

With some difficulty, Seto pulled back his sleeve to reveal a neat bandage around his upper arm. There was no blood in sight, like there should be with such a wound. He blinked in disbelief. "The Prince did this...?" he whispered. Such a wound would have at least needed stitching!

Ethan nodded. "Yes sir... Whatever he did, he had to rest for a while afterwards, but I'm sure that-"

They were interrupted by the sound of running feet outside as a few people rushed in from the door.

"I still refuse to believe that I missed it! Heavens, such a pity!" That would be Mahado, still sounding very groggy from the medicine he had easier. He must have had enough to knock him out for days on end.

"Oh, hush you..." That would be Yami, whose spiky hair appeared through the doorway when he cautiously stuck his head inside. "Is he truly awake?" The boy's expression was remarkably bright compared to how lousy Seto felt.

Ethan and Phillip rushed to their feet, shrugging on their jackets and bowing at the same time. "Your highness..."

Yami waved them up casually, rushing past them to Seto's bedside with smiling, shimmering eyes. "Commodore! How do you feel?"

Seto made an odd face as he sat up, wincing when he strained the large, black-blue bruise on his back. "My men tell me you healed me, your highness... Is this true?"

Yami gave a sheepish smile as he seated himself in a chair beside Seto's bed. Much to the Prince's embarrassment, the British man was only in his nightshirt -a very flimsy one at that. The boy fiddled with his hands, looking away. "It was nothing, Commodore... I had to repay you for saving my life."

Seto's eyes narrowed. The boy must have done it again, that weird power-up thing he had done earlier with the roses. Unfortunately, the Commodore had absolutely no idea what to do with that conclusion. What Phillip had suggested -magic, as it were- was simply impossible... _Impossible_!

"Well..." the officer started awkwardly, furrowing his eyebrows, "You didn't need to, and-"

"I wanted to," Yami said quickly, blinking those beautiful eyes of his.

Seto blinked again before giving a hesitant nod. "Then I... thank you, your highness," he said softly.

Yami gave a brilliant, sweet smile.

Mahado rolled his eyes and muttered something in his foreign tongue.

"Ah! Awake, are we, Sleeping Beauty?"

Seto sighed and laid back down, staring at the bland ceiling as Andrew all but skipped in. "I'm afraid so, lieutenant."

Andrew's thin face appeared above him, grinning. "You had me worried there, old sport."

Seto snorted. "'Tis but an arm wound. Nothing life-threatening." The side of his mouth twitched upward. "You can't get rid of me that easily, lieutenant."

"You keeled over in front of me, mate," Andrew said softly, suddenly solemn. "I daresay you inhaled too much smoke..."

Seto sighed. "Perhaps." He vaguely noted that Yami and Mahado had slipped out of the room with Phillip and Ethan, leaving him alone with his lieutenant. Andrew had probably dismissed them without his knowledge. That was just fine with Seto. His head was starting to pound, and he really didn't feel like dealing with any more people.

"Well, I certainly hope you're pleased with yourself," quipped Andrew with a dramatic sigh, sitting down by Seto in Yami's chair. He fixed his hat casually. "You scared the Queen half to death. That little girl you saved has been convincing all those merchants you're some angel sent from above, so naturally, you left me alone to deal with a mass of half-crazed worshippers. I had to get all of them relocated to the _Atlantica_ because I was SIMPLY at the end of my wits. And on top of that, _Edward_-"

Seto started, turning his head to glare at Andrew. "What about Edward?"

Andrew stiffened before he heaved a long sigh. "Well...He... He hasn't been taking the aftermath of the battle very well..."

Seto knew instantly what that meant. In a flash, he was sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed. "Blast it, Andrew, where are my clothes?"

Andrew stopped him before he even set his feet on the ground. "My God, are you bloody mad? You're wounded! You need rest!"

"I'm perfectly _fine_," argued Seto, shrugging him off. His headache was now happily pounding away, but he masked his pain well.

"The Prince told us you were not _entirely_ healed, so I cannot simply have you walking around!" Andrew was standing now, attempting to intimidate Seto with his momentary advantage in height.

It didn't work. Seto stood as well, arms crossed as he slipped instantly into his infamous Commodore-of-the-Royal-British-Navy-and-don't-you-forget-it! mode. "Lieutenant Giles," he snapped, instantly killing the informal tone that usually rested between them, "Out of my way. That is an _order_."

"You're HURT," Andrew tried once more, pleadingly.

"Edward _needs_ me."

Andrew's eyes flashed defiantly one last time before finally he looked away, sighing. "His night shift is in two hours," he murmured faintly, "You may speak with him then. Until then, will you _please_ rest?"

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Edward stared out into the horizon, his eyes dark and cloudy, his face unnaturally pale in the dim starlight. The sunset had been truly beautiful, though now all that was left of it was a tiny sliver of glowing purple in the distance. Now the sky was a dark blue-black expanse of velvet, filled with the first and brightest of the stars. Their light danced across the surface of the waves, challenging the glow of the bright crescent moon. From the north, a chilly, salty wind blew sharply into Edward's face, slapping his flesh until it was tender and raw.

Shivering, the boy tugged uncomfortably at his itchy collar. He was the newest of Seto's crew and had yet to get used to wearing the full uniform of a marine. After all, boys in the Navy trained in only simple slacks and white shirts, with light jackets at most.

Edward heaved a heavy sigh, dropping his hands back down on the cool wood of the helm. It wasn't really his uniform that bugged him. Ever since the battle, there was a dreadfully heavy weight on his chest, suffocating him like a boa would its prey.

He could still see the look in the pirate's eyes when the bullet hit him... He could still feel the trigger under his finger, the blast of the musket, the acrid taste of gunpowder that lingered in the air...

Blinking rapidly, the boy reached one hand up to his face. He was surprised to feel wetness on his fingers.

He was crying.

Edward scoffed at himself and quickly wiped his eyes, sniffling. "Blast it, I am a marine of the Royal British Navy..." he told himself firmly under his breath, "I do not cry."

The tears didn't stop.

"Edward?"

The young man jumped at the sound of his name, spinning around with his heart pounding in his throat.

Surrounded by an eerie halo of starlight, Seto stood like a statue on the top of the stairs leading to the bridge. Tall, unmoving, and dressed in his normal uniform, he was neat and tidy down to the last strand in his wig; the only indication that anything was off was the slight stiffness in one of his arms, a fact that the officer masked well by clasping both hands behind his back.

"Edward?" Seto repeated, slowly and respectfully. His eyes were remarkably gentle under the dark shadow of his hat. "May I have a word?"

"Sir!" Edward stammered, wiping his eyes furiously and standing to attention, giving a hurried salute. "You should be-"

"-resting, I know," finished Seto dryly, shaking his head. "Lietenant Giles made that _quite_ clear."

"Your arm, sir... It's-"

"I'll live," Seto snorted. In a few powerful strides, he was by Edward's side, towering well over the boy. However, the officer avoided the boy's curious gaze, choosing instead of focus his piercing blue eyes on the vast ocean before them. "Beautiful night, is it not?" he remarked calmly, taking a long, casual breath of salty ocean air.

"Y-Yes, sir." Edward shifted uneasily, wanting very badly to leave.

Seto lowered his eyes briefly. "The others... Lieutenant Giles, at least... has informed that you are not feel quite up to par."

Edward gulped around a sudden tightness in his throat. When he spoke, his voice was choked and a note too high. "Its nothing, sir," he quipped quickly, "I was merely... shaken by the battle."

Seto turned to look at him. "That was your first battle, I assume?" he asked neutrally, though his eyes were kind.

Edward could do nothing but nod.

Seto looked back out to sea. He suddenly seemed hesitant. "Have you... ever killed anyone?" he asked quietly.

That struck home. Edward stopped breathing for a brief moment. He could have sworn he could hear his knees knocking together. "I-" he stammered, biting his lip so hard he drew blood, "I don't- I mean..." He hung his head in shame. "No, sir," he answered finally, his voice tiny.

Seto felt pity just looking at the boy. Biting his own lip, he took a shaky breath and hesitantly raised his uninjured hand. It hovered for a bit before finally resting tentatively on Edward's shoulder.

The boy jumped, looking from the hand up to Seto. His eyes were wide. "Sir?"

Seto eyes were remarkably gentle. "It hurts... I know."

Edward gaped briefly at him, then looked away. "It does, sir," he agreed quietly.

Seto retreated his hand awkwardly. "And what hurts you the most about killing, Edward?" he asked gently.

Edward shuddered. "I don't know... Maybe just... just thinking that they were someone's brother... or someone's son, or someone's father..." He looked out at the ocean, his eyes shimmering with tears. "I wish I never saw the look in that pirate's eyes when I pulled that trigger... He was so surprised, so angry, so scared, so desperate. And I..." He sank his face into his hands, his voice choked. "I shot him."

Seto looked away with a heavy heart. "I have killed many people in my lifetime..." he murmured slowly, "Far too many, I suppose... I have long lost count." The officer laid his hands on the helm and fondly caressed the smooth wood as he spoke. "Some were young enough to be my child, if I had one. Some could have been my brothers, my twin. And some were old enough to be my grandfather." His fingers curled so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "And I killed all of them."

Edward looked up at him with wide, teary eyes. "Good God, sir..."

Seto lifted his chin, his eyes dark and cloudy as they peered over the sparkling ocean. "I killed them because I had to, Edward," he said, his voice suddenly strong and clear. He looked at the boy at his side, his expression neither warm nor cold. "What do you think are my reasons, Edward?"

Edward was pale. "Y-You had orders, perhaps, sir?"

Seto nodded. "And?"

Edward hesitated. "You were fighting for England? The Crown?"

Seto flinched. He stayed silent, clearly expecting something else.

Edward frowned.

"You can say it," Seto said quietly, diverting his gaze somewhat.

"Y-You didn't... didn't want to die?" Edward looked away, flushing in shame. He had just spoken against the entire Naval Code. Marines were never to think of themselves, for their lives were nothing compared to 'the good of mankind'. At least... that was what they were taught.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Seto's pale lips. "Correct." He shrugged. "It wasn't that I had anything or anyone to loose, mind you. But, like everyone else in the world, I was scared of death. I didn't want to die and never feel the wind in my hair again." He frowned, more to himself than anything, "But I also killed because I was angry. I was angry that they were trying to end my life before I was ready to go." He lifted his chin toward the moon, his expression oddly serene. "I had _dreams_, Edward," the Commodore whispered, eyes sparkling, "I had a dream that, after I got away from that godforsaken mansion, I would become Admiral and sail around the world. And I was so very angry that someone might dare take that dream away from me."

Edward was silent, unmoving.

Seto looked back at him and cocked his head. A faint smirk graced his features. "I suppose it was very selfish of me to think that, but are we not all selfish? We are humans, after all." His eyes twinkled. "Yes, even me, despite the rumors."

Edward gave a small, weak laugh.

Seto allowed an indulgent smile this time, the type that would normally made ladies fall at his feet. "And you did forget one more thing, Edward," he said, holding up a finger.

Edward frowned, wracking his mind. "Sir?"

Seto gave him an unnaturally warm pat on the shoulder. "You saved my life, little one," he said softly. His eyes smiled for him. "And not just that, either. You saved the Prince as well, and possibly many others if that pirate you shot was going to go on and kill more people."

Edward worked this through in his mind and flushed modestly. "But sir-"

Seto stopped him with a raised hand. "Tell me, do you have a good memory?"

Edward furrowed his eyebrows at the strange question. He hesitated. "Usually, sir."

Seto nodded. He pulled out his beautiful sword, holding it by the blade so he could see the hilt glitter in the moonlight. He studied the embroidered silver with a cocked head and a proud smile. "Do you remember what we were all told the day we enlisted?"

The younger man frowned. "No, sir..."

Seto raised the sword as if offering it to the moon. His gaze was distant, thoughtful. "The Admiral himself said this to me; 'Every time you draw your sword... you should not remember who you had killed, but who you had allowed to live.'" He gave a long sigh, resting his sword against his thighs. "We are marines, Edward. Warriors for England." The officer shrugged, trailing one hand up and down the length of his blade. "Our sacrifices and pains are not in vain. We kill and we fight so that..." he trailed off quietly, "...so that those little children back home can be safe in their beds."

Edward nodded, the faintest of smiles on his face. "Are you fond of children, sir?"

Seto heaved a sir and quietly sheathing his sword. "Alas, yes." He shrugged, giving Edward an unusually lighthearted grin. "That's perhaps why I never had children. I would have spoil them terribly."

Edward laughed. "I had a little brother," he said, growing quickly solemn. "I loved him terribly, but my mother took him with her when she and my father divorced."

Seto looked at him for a long time, then looked back at the ocean. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Edward forced a smile. "I suppose life would have been very different with him around," he mused quietly, "My father died, and after the authorities failed to locate my mother, I was dropped off at the orphanage. A poor family adopted me, but all they did was work and they never..." His voice became choked, and he looked down at his hands, flexing them as if marveling at his fingers. "...they never even seemed to _like_ me." He looked up at Seto, eyes baleful and sad, "I don't know even know WHY."

Seto's glance was sad and gentle as he set a strong hand on Edward's shoulder. "You're liked _here_, Edward," he reminded the boy softly, "I would not have picked you for my crew if I thought you were incapable."

Edward beamed brilliantly and gave a wide smile. "I know, sir," he said. "I know."

Seto nodded and straightened, clasping his hands behind his back again. He looked out to sea, a picture of pure majesty in his uniform and wig. "You're dismissed, Edward. Go get some rest."

"Sir?" Edward's eyebrows rose. "But my shift-!"

"I will take it." Seto looked at Edward with a sly smirk. "I've slept for two days. I daresay I don't want to see my bed for quite some time." He nodded as if pleased with his own logic. "I think the ocean air will do me some good."

Edward hesitated, but gave a thankful salute and rushed off. His heels clicked soundly against the deck of the _Dragon_ before he disappeared below.

Seto watched him go with a tad bit of fondness in his eyes. 'That boy...' The Commodore shook his head, chuckling to himself. 'Was it so long ago that I was just like him?"

Another voice -two, actually- broke through his thoughts. Seto rested a hand on the wheel and turned his head around in curiosity. There were five sentries at any time of night; one at the wheel, one in the crow's nest, two on the sides of the ships and one on the stern. As far as he knew, all those positions were currently filled. Who else could be coming?

"Your highness, _please_, it's MUCH too cold to be- Good Ra, you'll get ill!" That would be Mahado, half whining, half pleading.

"Nonsense, Mahado," scoffed Yami's voice. "I actually think it's rather lovely out here." A pause. "Yes, yes, I'll take your jacket... Heavens, _you_ can go down below. You're shivering already!"

"But..."

"_Go_, Mahado. There are sentries out here. Oh, don't give me that look, I _promise_ I won't fall overboard."

Grumbled in that strange language of his, Mahado clunked noisily below.

Seto fought a smile as he leaned against the wheel, watching Yami appear from below from one of the doorways. Dressed in velvety black robes and Mahado's scarlet musketeer jacket, the boy looked a bit flushed from the cold night, but the pink on his cheeks brought out the lovely shade of his eyes.

Seto watched, unwillingly entranced, as the Prince glided slowly down the side of ship and moved toward the bow. Preoccupied with something over the railing, the boy had not yet noticed the Commodore and was busy studying something in the water.

Seto suddenly heard him laugh. "Ship fish!"

The officer fought back his own laugh and coughed none-too-discreetly into his hand. "Dolphins, actually," he remarked casually.

Yami spun around and looked up, brushing blond hair out of his eyes. He gave a brilliant smile. "Commodore! You're... er..._well_!"

Seto shrugged modestly, brushing the remark away, "Those of my profession cannot afford to be off our feet for very long."

Yami rolled his eyes a little, climbing up to the bridge. He allowed Seto to bow and kiss his hand. "I'm assuming Lieutenant Giles-"

"-would have my head for being out here this long," finished Seto, chuckling as he stood.

Yami's eyes twinkled. "He would be planning our deaths with dear Mahado, I'm sure."

Seto laughed again, a melodious sound that twinkled through the night. Yami's heart skipped.

"I wouldn't miss a night like this for the world," the Commodore said finally, quietly.

Yami blinked and turned toward to the sea. "Its so quiet..." the boy murmured in appreciation, his eyes glowing eeriely in the moonlight, "Its never this quiet on land."

"It's like nothing in this world, isn't it?" Seto murmured, eyes distant, "The moon, the stars, the ocean... To them, there is no pain or suffering; their world is like the calm that comes after death."

His words hung like icicles in the air.

Yami glanced at Seto thoughtfully, his eyes shimmering with reflected moonlight. "How poetic," he remarked quietly, with a hint of a smile.

Seto flushed instantly, coughing a bit. "You'll have to excuse me, I-"

Yami gave him a small smirk, his eyes teasing and warm. "Do you like poetry, Commodore?"

Seto blinked and chose his words carefully. "...I do appreciate it, yes."

Now for the kill. "I heard you like Shakespeare's works."

Alarm and embarrassment flashed through Seto's eyes. His mouth worked wordlessly for a minute. "...And may I inquire as to who told you that, your highness?" he asked stiffly. He was already planning the messenger's painful death in his mind.

Yami brushed the question off. "I quite like Shakespeare myself," he remarked cheerfully, "His use of descriptions and emotions is incredible, wouldn't you agree?"

Seto faltered in his effort to look for something respectable to say. "I much prefer his wit, your highness," he admitted quietly.

Yami quirked an eyebrow. "Wit?"

Seto was quiet for a while as he looked out into the ocean. His eyes were as blue and brilliant as the surface of the water. "If it be aught toward the general good," he started quietly, "set honor in one eye and death in the other, and I will look on both indifferently, for let the gods so speed me as I love the name of honor more than I fear death." His words were strong and clear as they echoed in the night air, his rhythm perfect and eerily musical.

A strange silence settled over them both, broken only by the sound of waves crashing against the _Dragon_'s hull.

Yami looked at Seto in wonder and surprise. "Julius Caesar?"

Seto nodded, lips pursed. "Brutus; Act One, Scene Two."

Yami looked a bit sheepish. "You know Shakespeare by heart?"

"I have a photographic memory," Seto remarked simply. There was neither shame nor arrogance in his voice.

"Julius Caesar... A magnificent play, though I only read it once as a child." Yami looked thoughtful, as if struggling to remember. "Had you rather Caesar were living and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live-"

"-all free men," Seto finished quietly.

Yami gave him a meaningful look. "...all free men," he echoed.

Silence.

Yami looked away. "I would prefer Caesar dead and be a free man," he murmured absently to the night sky, "And you, Commodore?"

Seto was silent for a long time. "...I would rather be Caesar."

Yami laughed. "Sadly, that's all I can remember..." he said finally, shrugging, "I was much better with the romances... Romeo and Juliet, for example."

Seto snorted. "Romeo and Juliet were both fools."

Yami looked up at him, surprised. "I beg to differ!"

"They gave up everything to die for each other," Seto rolled his eyes. "It's ridiculous."

"Only because you have never felt true love."

"Do I need to?"

Their eyes met, their wills clashing violently between then.

"You don't believe in love?" Yami asked softly.

Seto's gaze remained fixed on the ocean. "I believe in honor and duty."

"Is duty all that matter to you?" Yami demanded, his eyes searching Seto's own.

Seto said nothing.

Yami's fingers kneaded furiously the folds of his robes. This was not going as well as he had hoped. Seto had gone from relaxed to cold in an instant, and as it was, the prince was struggling with an urge to slap him. Hard.

For the next few minutes, the two of them stood in uncomfortable silence, tension as thick as cream between them. Yami finally sighed irritably and leaned most unbecomingly against the helm. Uncomfortable at the boy's close proximity, Seto withdrew his hands from the wheel and watched with surprise as Yami's weight caused the wheel to shift and the entire ship jerked under them. The creaking of wood and splashing water filled the air.

Yami jumped and leapt off the helm, looking horrified.

Seto chuckled and steadied the ship with one hand. The _Dragon_ steered faithfully back on course, silent and elegant once more.

Yami's heart pounded loudly in his chest. "I-I apologize, I didn't-"

"No harm done," Seto said shortly. Seeing Yami's curious gaze, he fought a smirk. "Would you like to try?" He motioned to the wheel. Some voice in his head was going on and on about himself being a bloody git, but he ignored it.

Yami's eyes widened, a childish sparkle in them. "You... You would teach me, Commodore?"

"Of course, your highness. You need only ask."

The smile the prince gave was bright enough to put the sun to shame. Seto basked in its glory for a split second, then mentally slapped himself. It was entirely foolish to let an amateur fiddle with his ship. Lord, he would never live it down... but then again, that smile was beyond worth it.

Yami waited nervously for a minute before Seto got the hint. Inclining his head respectfully, the man took a gracious step back from the wheel and allowed the prince to maneuver himself into position.

The boy tentatively planted his hands on the knobs jutting from the wheel, gripping them tightly. "Like this?"

"Yes, that's good..." came Seto's voice, a respectable distance away. "If you want, your highness, you can try turning- No, not like that, you must loop your arms like-"

Before either of them knew it, Seto had walked behind Yami and had taken the boy's wrists. Yami stiffened, feeling the rough fabric and cold buttons of Seto's jacket pressing against his back. The Commodore's warm breath was hot in his ear.

"Relax..." the man murmured softly, feeling Yami's racing heart even through their various layers of clothing. He himself was in a daze, hardly aware of his actions.

Yami nodded numbly. Using his own hands, the Commodore soon placed the prince's hands in a more proper position on the wheel, turning it gently back and forth. The _Dragon_ made tiny little adjustments to their movement, swaying slightly from side to side and creating shimmering ripples as it went.

Yami could sense the ship strumming under his fingers, its power and strength obvious to even to his own inexperienced fingers. "You have a marvelous ship, Commodore..." he breathed, smiling faintly as he slowly relaxed against the tall man. "You should be proud."

"I am," answered Seto quietly, though the ship was far from his mind. He was very close to Yami now, closer than he should have been, closer than polite society would have let him. He could feel the boy's warmth through his jacket and smell the distinct, spicy smell of incense on the prince's skin. The unfamiliar scent made him feel dizzy, overwhelmed...

Yami felt the Commodore's fingers entangled with his own, pulling him away from the wheel and into a tight, possessive embrace. The boy gasped and instantly shivered with delight. Being here, on the this beautiful night, in the arms of the most beautiful man in the world... It felt so _right_. He looked up over his shoulder at Seto, his heart up in his throat. "Commodore...?"

The man's eyes were cloudy and dark, so unlike their normal crystalline blue. He seemed so lost, so confused... "Forgive me," the man croaked softly before he leaned down and caught Yami's lips in a fiery, burning kiss.

Yami had dreamt -no, _craved_- this moment for many days, but now that it was finally here, it was far better than anything he had ever wished for. The inner passion that Seto always so meticulously hid behind his cold exterior was now pushing forth like a waterfall, burning Yami's lips and turning his insides to goo. The boy mewled helplessly into the Commodore's talented mouth, their tongues and lips melding together in a graceful, languid dance.

"No," Seto breathed as he finally pulled away, gasping for air, "W-We cannot do this..." His voice was weak and he made no move to release Yami or to step away.

Yami licked his kiss-bruised lips, his scarlet eyes burning with passion and his cheeks flushed with arousal. "Give me one good reason why we cannot," he whispered, his slender fingers still intimately linked with Seto's.

"We...I-" Seto swallowed harshly, finally pulling himself away from their embrace to lean tiredly against the railing. His eyes were closed and his head was lowered as a sudden wave of panic. What if someone had seen them? "We should not have done that," he repeated finally. His voice was clearer now but still hollow and robbed of emotion.

Warm, delicate fingers cupped his cheek, causing the man to open his eyes. He was met with Yami's loving smile. Bathed in starlight, the boy looked so beautiful just then that Seto had to resist the urge to gather him back in his arms and simply kiss him senseless.

"Is love, too, a crime in England these days?" the boy whispered sadly.

Seto said nothing, his skin clammy and cold under the boy's touch.

"Why do you fear me so?" Yami breathed, his tone gentle as if talking to a child, "I am not the king or the Admiral or a pirate."

Seto's breathing quickened. "This is forbidden," he whispered even as his traitorous body leaned into the boy's touch. "We cannot do-"

"Cleopatra defied the entire Roman Empire," Yami stated quietly, silencing Seto with a finger to his lips, "I am not afraid to do the same."

His challenge hung dangerously in the air. Inevitably, Seto's pride surged to meet it.

"Damn it all to hell," the man cursed under his breath as he grabbed the boy and pulled him in for another fierce kiss. Every voice of reason in his mind was screaming at him to stop this madness, but he was already in far too deep.

'How did it come to this?' the officer wondered as they stumbled below deck, still wrapped around each other. How could such a daring little prince simply waltz into his life and unravel every part of him with just a glance or two?

It was a miracle that they hadn't run into anyone on their way back to the Commodore's room, but neither of the two dwelled on the thought as they fell on to the bed in a moaning, writhing heap.

Their hands were everywhere, stroking and caressing and tearing off clothing with less-than-admirable grace. Seto's wig was the first to go, and for the first time in his life, the man didn't complain. Feeling his way blindly in the dark, Seto kissed his way slowly down Yami's lovely neck, nipping and biting at the smooth skin. The boy keened above him, whimpering whimsical words as he sank his trembling fingers in to the man's dark hair.

A small part of Seto's mind still protested, still begged for him to stop, but the man merely shrugged it off. He was drunk off Yami's smell and taste, lost in the forbidden sensation of feeling another's skin against his own. How on earth could this be wrong?

Yami was offering him a gift that he could not refuse, no matter how hard he tried. Just this night, the Commodore told himself, he was going to forget about the blasted Navy. He was going to forget about England, France, and their damned, stuffy wigs. And most of all, he was going to forget that this was very, very wrong.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**1** - I'm not ENTIRELY sure, but this may (or may not be) a quote by Alexander Dumas. It was featured in the movie The Man in the Iron Mask (based on Dumas's book) so either the movie peeps own it or Dumas does. Isn't it such a lovely quote? XD I love these philosophical things.


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